The Phantom and the Rose
by bensara91513
Summary: 100 years after the Phantom lost Christine and vanished, Paris Opera House intern, Rosalie Daniels finds a secret passageway down to the Phantom's lair. Could the stories really be true? Did the Phantom truly exist? And who exactly would she find down there…or more precisely, who found her!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Welcome to my first Fan Fic story! I have been a fan of Phantom of the Opera for about 25 years, but it is only recently that I was bitten with the writing bug to try to write my own story. I hope you enjoy! **

**I would like to give a _major _shout out to my wonderful Beta Reader FantomPhan33. She has helped me so much with this story, and without her friendly encouragement, I probably would have given it up long ago. So thanks FP33, and anyone who reads and likes _this _story should hurry and put her on their favorite/follow list! Her stories are amazing!**

**Now here you go: Chapter 1  
**

1. A Deal With Death

1896

Erik took another agonizing breath. He didn't want to. The pain in his chest was excruciating, the fire in his lungs all consuming. Nearly all the bones in his body were broken-his chest, a bloody pulp. To any poor soul forced to look upon his face, it would be difficult to tell which side had marked him as the "Devil's Child," his left side now bloody and equally misshapen by the mob's beatings, as his right side had been by the design of God.

He wanted to die. It was all that was left for him.

Christine had gone.

He had loved her. With all of his being. He had wrapped her tenderly, in his velvety, dark music of the night. But she had gone. And now it was over. She had made his song take flight, but she had also allowed it to plummet to the depths and shatter on the ground. She had chosen to abandon him, her angel, for that insipid, but beautiful, fool Raoul.

And why? What was the reason for her rejection-for her turning her back on the one who had once molded her voice into perfection? Of course, it was his face. He might be the greatest genius to ever live-architect of great buildings, healer of terrible maladies, composer of magnificent music-and still, to Christine, as to all, he was defined by his face. That wicked countenance which stole from him every happiness-deprived him from ever experiencing a mother's affection or a lover's caress; his face, which poisoned his soul, twisting his heart until it too reflected his grotesque visage.

When the mobs had come, he had not fought. Oh, the great Phantom of the Opera could have saved himself. There'd been countless ways for him to disappear into the darkness. And, of course, he'd held the Punjab Lasso. But to what end? His dream was over-his music gone. He had no soul. The mob's cruelty would be his release, and he would finally ache no more.

But still he breathed.

'Oh why, Death, have you not come for me?' he wondered in his torment.

As if in answer to his thoughts, he heard a chilly voice say "I have come."

Erik struggled to open his swollen eyes. Before him stood a tall, imposing figure enveloped in a long black robe, the hood entirely concealing any face it might possess. An unearthly glow emanated from that hood, and one skeletal hand gripped a large scythe.

"I am ready," Erik gurgled, bracing himself for the fires which would surely now consume him-fires that could never sear as painfully as Christine's icy betrayal.

The presence laughed, and the sound was cold as the grave. "I have not come to take you, 'Angel,'" he whispered, mockingly. "I have come to inform you that, even in Hell, you are not wanted." The laugh was louder now, and filled with all the scorn and derision Erik had suffered his entire life.

"I don't understand," he coughed, blood bubbling at the surface of his lips.

"Oh come now, you must know that Heaven has barred its gates against your crimes. It is no place for an 'Angel' such as yourself-the self appointed 'Angel of Death.'" There was that mocking laugh again. "And as for the Devil," the voice darkened as the glowing hood turned to focus directly on Erik, "He has no use for one more son." The words were biting, cold, as the hood receded to reveal a face. Erik recognized the dark countenance in front of him. It was a perfectly symmetrical reflection of the face that had been his own foul torment, except with glowing red orbs peering out from behind the spectral eye sockets. Even in death there appeared to be symmetry. "Especially not a son who might discover Hell's own secret passages, and be the first to escape from its eternal confinement." The figure replaced the hood around its own head. "Besides," it continued, "The inferno would practically be a mercy compared to this chilling crypt you have created for yourself."

The apparition turned to go, but Erik protested, "Please. . ." he reached out feebly with a shattered hand, "I am soulless . . . broken. I cannot continue to live."

The figure looked toward him once more, and the glow from his robe grew somewhat more intense. "And yet. . .'Angel'. . .'Death's Own Snare'," there was ridicule again in the ghostly voice, "Unless you can find a way to snare death for yourself, you will not die." This last proclamation boomed loud in his lair, making the very stone vibrate with its power.

"When?" Erik begged, weakly, the voice which had once soared into the heavens, now cracked and dry "When will this torment end?"

Death looked at him, as if considering. "When you have a life to lose, I shall come and relieve you of it. Perhaps," the specter once again laughed with derision, "When love has found you. . ." The unearthly laughter grew and boomed as Death exited the Phantom's Lair and left Erik alone once more in his agony.

**Thanks for reading! I would love to hear what you think! Please review! **


	2. Chapter 2 Let the Dream Begin

**Thank you to all who took the time to read and review. It was really quite a nice surprise this morning to see your reviews in my inbox!**

**Well, you've met the Phantom. Now it's time for you to meet the other half of the equation. **

**I should have said this at the beginning of my story, but nothing Phantom related belongs to me. **

2. Let the Dream Begin

"Thank you all for coming," said Rosalie with a smile as she concluded her tour. "Please feel free to linger and look around a bit more on your own if you like. If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to ask." She lingered as the crowd dispersed, exchanging pleasantries with the tourists and directing a few to the cafe, or to the gift shop. Finally, she began her walk back to her desk.

She had just completed her favorite part of the day. Giving a tour of the Paris Opera House, or as it is still known,The Palais Garnier, was always a joy. This building was her reason for being in France, the whole point of her traveling to Paris after graduation. Since first reading the story of The Phantom of the Opera as a child, she had felt a strange draw to the opera house-which had only intensified with each movie adaptation she had seen. Her own love of singing had her practicing along with the amazing score of the Andrew Lloyd Webber hit musical, and had further fanned her desires to visit Charles Garnier's magnificent building. When graduation had loomed with no prospects on either the job or relationship horizon, and after having lost her parents in a devastating car crash, she had submitted an application for the position of paid intern, which would include office work and giving the English speaking tours. She was surprised and delighted to receive a letter accepting her into the internship program, and a few short weeks after graduation, Rosalie was on her way to France, to start her life anew.

Her first visit to the glorious building had been simply breathtaking. She had been overwhelmed by the rich opulence of the foyer and the dizzying grand staircase. Everywhere she looked there were absolute masterpieces of art to see. And there were almost no words to describe the impact of the auditorium, which now mostly hosted ballets, but which had once been the stage for some of the world's most amazing operas. The red velvet seating, the gilded sculptures of angels, the heavy red and gold curtains, and of course, the resplendent chandelier-it was decadent, but it was lovely. In her mind's eye, she could easily imagine the pomp and circumstance of opening night at the Opera, the romantic intrigues that had taken place within these walls-or behind them, as the case may have been. In her training as a tour guide, she had been shown some of the "secret passages" that had given way to the lore of the tortured Phantom's underground labyrinth. The reality was hardly so mysterious. They were merely access points through which to conveniently move props and scenery. Still, her heart had thrilled with excitement to be walking the fabled corridors, regardless of their truly bland nature. Imagination was a wonderful thing.

Though most of her internship was, in fact, office work, her hours walking the Opera, telling the tales of its history and art were a fair recompense. Her favorite moment was always taking her visitors to the entrance of Box 5-or Loge Du Fantome de L'Opera, as it is entitled-explaining that to this day, it is never sold. Adds a little extra titillation to those visiting because they wish to chase a ghost. Her fellow tour guides were, frankly, getting so tired of the old story, but Rosalie could certainly understand its appeal. Her only regret was that access to the underground lake had been boarded off long ago for safety reasons, so there really was no chance to explore the deepest cellars beneath the massive structure. But it was a small disappointment, really. To be here, not only fulfilling her childhood dream of visiting the opera, but having it as a part of her daily life, was really too exciting for words, and she was intent on enjoying every minute of it.

As Rosalie reached her desk, piled high with requests that had arrived while she was off on her tour, she was reminded of the other fringe benefit to working at the Opera. Seated a desk away from her's, speaking politely with a patron on the phone, was Lucas Dumond. Rosalie remembered when Monsieur Bellamy had introduced them the first time. She had been quite flustered to meet this tall, blond man who would be sharing her workspace, but when his deep blue eyes locked with her green ones, and he flashed her his ready smile, Rosalie could not help but smile back. He was so handsome, and sweet, and funny, as she came to discover in their early conversations. His invitation for dinner after work had come as a complete surprise a few days into her internship, as well as when he took her hand in his as they'd walked to the corner cafe. That evening had been filled with laughter, and when he sealed it with a brief kiss after walking her to her apartment, she had been floating on air. Lucas always had a way of making her smile, and as he blew her a kiss, after looking up from his phone conversation, Rosalie could feel her cheeks flush. She could not wait until he hung up the phone, so she could run over and say hello, but it seemed Lucas was stuck with someone a little verbose.

Sitting down at her own desk, Rosalie began to wade through the papers that had appeared in her absence when her boss, Opera House Manager, Rahim Bellamy, entered their office. Thought of as kind and well liked by all, the older man with the olive skin and the chocolate eyes quickly commanded everyone's attention. "I have an announcement to make," as phone calls were ended, pens lowered, and keyboards silenced. "I am delighted to inform you that in October, the Palais Garnier will be host to a gala celebration in honor of the 30th anniversary of the musical 'The Phantom of the Opera.' There will be much for this office to do. The guest list will be largely by invitation only, but there will still be many accommodations we will have to make. Likewise, expect that we will have to make some special rush orders for supplies and such. It will be a very busy time between now and the gala, and extra hours will likely be required of you. But by way of remuneration, each of you will be invited to be a guest at the performance-which will be an historic one indeed in the world of theater." His eyes glistened as he considered just how historic the event would be. "Good day" he nodded, as he exited out of their office.

Rosalie could barely contain her excitement as she rushed over to Lucas! "Can you believe it?" she gushed, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "Phantom is coming here!"

Lucas laughed as he extricated himself from her hold. "Some would say-including you-that he's always been here. Isn't that why we lose money every performance by not selling out Box 5?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes at him, "Oh Lucas, you know what I mean! The musical. It's so exciting!"

Lucas shook his head from side to side. "I swear, Rose, somedays I think you like that ghost more than me!"

"Well," she smiled, "He has a better singing voice. And the mask-it's so mysterious!"

Now it was Lucas's turn to roll his eyes. "It's a good thing you're so adorable, because you're also completely insane!"

"Yeah, yeah, but you knew that when you started dating me." she giggled.

"I swear," he said, raising his right hand in the air with a mock serious expression,"I was in the dark. It was only after you'd stolen my heart that you let your psychosis show." Lucas's phone rang again, which was Rosalie's cue to get back to her desk and leave him to his work. They both had plenty to do to keep them busy, especially with the gala on the way. Besides, she would have plenty of time with Lucas on their date tonight.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rosalie handed Lucas a glass of wine as she sat down on the little couch in her apartment. Dinner had been delicious, and they had enjoyed a beautiful stroll through the park on their way back to her place. Once she had taken a sip of her wine and set it on the side table next to the sofa, she snuggled closely into Lucas as he put his arm around her. In the dim lamplight of her apartment, Lucas' blue eyes shone as he reached out to pull her face closer to his. "You are so beautiful," he whispered in a low voice as he placed his lips against hers. Rosalie met his kiss tentatively, shuddering a little as he parted her lips with his tongue and pulled her more tightly against him. She allowed herself to enjoy the sensations he was creating, as she ran her fingers through his silky blond locks. She felt his hands wandering across her back, traveling lower to give her backside a little squeeze. When she squealed a little at that, unnerved, he took it as encouragement. His hands moved to her thighs, kissing her the whole time, gliding up toward her waist and higher still until he brushed her breast with his hand, through her blouse. Rosalie was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable, but it wasn't until he began to unfasten one of her buttons that she pushed away and put on the breaks.

"Lucas, stop," she said, out of breath, pulling a little out of his embrace.

"Why?," he whispered, undeterred, continuing his kisses, now to her neck, as his hands made another attempt to unbutton her blouse."

"Lucas, no. We can't." She said, more firmly now, pulling completely away and re-buttoning what he had undone.

"Rosie, come on!" Lucas said, slapping his hands on his knees in irritation. "Why the hell not?"

Rosalie looked away from him, her face reddening in embarrassment. "Lucas, I'm just not ready," she said, with a quavering voice.

"We've been dating for a month now!" Lucas raised his voice slightly, in frustration. "When are you going to be ready?"

"I don't know." She said in a small voice, still not able to look at him.

Lucas stood up, running his fingers through his hair. "Look, I should go," he said, his voice full of aggravation.

"Okay," Rosalie said, still not facing him.

"Bye," he said, as he grabbed his jacket and walked out the door.

Once Lucas left her apartment, Rosalie let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Slowly, she stood up and walked over to lock the door. She leaned up against it, not knowing why she kept stopping Lucas. It wasn't as if she didn't like being with him-and she certainly enjoyed it every time he kissed her. She just was not ready to take their relationship to the next level. Such a fool she was, she thought. Lucas was everything she'd ever wanted in a man-handsome, intelligent, funny-and still, she turned him away. "Ah, Rosalie," she asked herself, "What are you waiting for?" Because she truly didn't know. She walked into her small bedroom, quickly undressed, and collapsed, exhausted, on the bed. She only hoped that when she woke up in the morning, Lucas would still want to be by her side.

**So, what do you think of our Rose?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all who read my story! It's so exciting to hear what you all think! The day is about to get busy for me, so I am posting early.  
**

**Last night was a rough one for poor Rose, but fear not, her day is about to get very interesting!**

3. Did I Not Instruct that Box 5 Was to Be Left Empty?

To say the next morning was awkward was an understatement. Lucas had gotten to the office before Rosalie, and was completely buried in work-or was pretending to be. She said a quick hello, to which he waved without looking up from his computer, and then she dove into her own workload, which was, in fact, building in preparation for the gala. There was a tense silence between them as they both worked and avoided any mention of the previous night. It was a relief when the time came for Rosalie to leave for her tour.

Her walk through the Opera House did much to calm her nerves. Her attendees were treated to a viewing of a rehearsal and all were dazzled by the grace of the ballerinas, especially a younger American girl who wore a "dance" t-shirt and had her dark hair pulled up into a bun. Future ballerina in the making, Rosalie thought. When they came to Box 5, the same girl looked somewhat disappointed.

"Aren't we going to get to go inside?" she asked.

"No," Rosalie explained, somewhat conspiratorially, demonstrating that the door was locked. "This box is reserved for the Phantom. No one ever enters it, to this day. Unless, of course, they are invited by the ghost."

The girl looked up at the plaque on the door somewhat wistfully. "I would love to be invited. I would love to see the view that the Phantom had of the stage while Christine sang to him. Her Angel of Music-always watching, always listening, never seen, hiding in Box 5."

The tour moved on, at that point, but Rosalie had to admit, she would love to view the stage from Box 5 as well.

When Rosalie returned to her desk, she found that Lucas had not tired of giving her the cold shoulder. He did not even glance up from his phone call to acknowledge her in any way. They worked there next to each other, but each quite alone for the rest of the morning. When the time came for Rosalie to take her lunch break, she knew she needed to get away. In her opinion, Lucas was being ridiculous. She made a promise to herself to talk to him after work, but right then, she just needed a break from the tension between them that could be cut by a knife.

Rosalie grabbed her brown bag and left the office. She began to walk toward the benches outside where she and Lucas often had lunch together, but she did not want to risk him arriving at some point during her break. Just then, she remembered the girl from her tour, and though she knew she really shouldn't be doing this, Rosalie quickly made her way back to the auditorium.

The boxes were silent and unoccupied, as there was no performance scheduled for tonight, so there were no caretakers to be milling about. She took out her master key that she knew would open all of the box doors. She saw no reason why Box 5 would be different. After all, Monsieur Bellamy simply kept it locked to add to the allure of the story-to draw more visitors this way. In a way, it was its own piece of theater. The lock clicked as she turned the key, and looking about herself one last time to ensure that no one was looking, she entered the Phantom's domain.

Box 5, like all the other boxes in the Opera House, was hung with heavy red velvet curtains. There were 6 chairs, arranged 2 by 2, in three rows-the back row receding a bit into the rear curve of the box. It was easy to see how the Phantom would have been able to remain hidden from the performers and patrons while still being able to view the spectacle on the stage. He could make it his own private world, inhabited only by the beautiful sounds of Christine's singing.

Rosalie took another good look around. In truth, box 5 looked like any other Opera Box, but it just felt so different. She knew Lucas would tell her it was all in her mind, and she knew it was, but still, there was a different atmosphere in this box-a headiness in the air, an electricity that was absent in the other boxes. She took a deep breath. The box even had its own scent-a rich, spicy aroma, tinged at the edges with the hint of. . .roses? Rosalie's lips curved into a half smile as she remembered Phantom's constant gift to his beloved soprano-a single red rose, tied with a black ribbon. The scent seemed a fitting monument to that enduring memory. Rosalie sighed, remembering the romance and the heartache of the legend. She had always dreamed of a man who would love her the way the Phantom loved Christine-without the violent rage and the murderous tendencies, to be sure, but that all encompassing love, that connection at the level of their souls-that is what Rosalie dreamed about. She always felt that, were she Christine, she would not have cared about the Phantom's face-that the sound of his ethereal voice alone would be enough to make her love him all the rest of their days. Their love would have redeemed his soul and somehow he would have achieved the true level of greatness that a genius such as himself should have achieved.

Of course it was all a myth. There was no real Phantom of the Opera-just a very imaginative Gaston Leroux, who had managed to take certain real life events and phenomena and weave an everlasting tale of cruelty and love and betrayal. The story felt so real-and yet Rosalie knew it was just that. A story. Meanwhile as she held onto these grandiose dreams of amorous enchantment and passion, she had managed to turn away a real man and possibly destroy a burgeoning romance. True, she was not the end all and be all of his existence, but Lucas had treated her well. He had been a kind and considerate boyfriend. She may not yet feel the epic fire in her soul when she was with him, but there was a spark. Should she keep smothering it, waiting for some magic moment that might never come? She shook her head, thinking she really needed to talk to Lucas tonight. She just hoped he would listen.

As she turned to go, she lightly ran her hand along the beautiful brocade covered back wall of the box. What tales these walls could tell, she thought. About halfway through, she felt a small protrusion in the otherwise smooth wall. That was odd, she thought. Probably just a nail pop, but it seemed so out of place among the perfection of the Opera House. As she looked closely at the wall, she could see the thinnest outline of what looked like a door to the left of the bump. If she hadn't felt the slight bulge in the brocade, she never would have noticed it-it seemed to blend in flawlessly to the pattern of the fabric. She placed her fingers back on the protrusion and gently pressed, wondering if somehow the two anomalies were connected. She stifled a gasp when the wall began to part along the outline and what seemed like a dark passageway was revealed.

Rosalie paused for a moment and looked around. There was no one in the auditorium- no one to see her enter the passage. Should she? She was not aware of this access route-it was not marked on any of the theater maps. She reached around the inner walls of the passage, but she could find no light switch like in the other access ways. She reached into her pocket to find the small penlight she carried on her keychain and flashed it into the opening. There was no switch to be seen, but she did notice a wall sconce as if to hold a lit torch.

She knew that the opera house had originally been built without electric lighting. But the whole theater, including the access ways, had been retrofitted for lights ages ago. It seemed this one had somehow been forgotten. "Or never found. . ." She finished her own thought out loud, that strange sense of electricity growing even stronger as she stood at the entryway to the strange passage.

Keeping her pen light on, Rosalie took a few tentative steps into the passage. It was cold and dark, and Rosalie soon realized it was not a passage at all, but rather, a staircase. Rough hewn from the stone itself, stairs spiraled both up and down. Rosalie had not seen anything like it anywhere else in the opera. She had no idea where the stairs led, but this was not the time to find out.

Slightly spooked, Rosalie stepped backward out of the stone staircase, and into box 5. She pressed the small bump in the wall a second time, and sure enough, the passage door closed. Hurriedly, she exited the box, locking the door behind her.

XXXXXXXXX

When Rosalie returned to her desk, she was quite rattled. What had she seen? She wanted to ask someone about that staircase, but it wasn't like she really could. She was not supposed to have been in Box 5 at all. It was kept locked, and there had been no real reason for her to enter. And besides, truth be told, now that she knew it was there, she would really like to go back and explore it some more-to see where the stairs led-to see if that feeling remained. She was certain that if she mentioned the staircase to anyone, not only would she be reprimanded for having snuck into Box 5 in the first place, but also admonished NOT to go back.

She looked up when she heard Lucas returning to his desk after his break was done. Her thoughts shifted from cold dark stone staircases to the strain that had been between them the whole day and her mood plummeted even more. When he did not even glance in her direction, she decided she had to try to end this now-she would lose her mind if she waited until after work.

"Lucas," she said, waiting for him to look in her direction.

"Yes?" he answered, very business like, pretending to be already ensconced in his computer.

"Lucas," she said again, a slight pleading tone entering her voice.

Finally, he stopped what he was doing and looked at her, letting out a deep sigh. "Yes, Rose?"

"Lucas, I'm sorry." she said sincerely, "I'm sorry I pushed you away."

She saw his cheeks redden a bit as he said, "Hey, you have to do what's right for you."

"I know. I'm just sorry if I hurt you."

"No, no." he said, as if brushing off her feelings, "I'm fine."

"Are we fine?" she asked, truly uncertain of his answer.

"Yeah," he said quickly, "Yeah. We're ok." He ran his hand awkwardly through his hair, looking away for a moment before looking back at her with a sheepish grin. "I looked for you outside. Where were you?"

Rosalie hesitated for just a moment before she realized she really HAD to tell someone about what she had found. Since Lucas seemed to be in a forgiving mood, she figured he'd be a good choice. It would definitely give them something to talk about other than the awkward state of their relationship. She glanced around to make certain no one else in their office was within hearing distance, and walked over to his desk so she could tell him quietly, "Box 5."

Lucas looked at her in confusion for a second before blurting out "Box 5?" Rosalie shushed him, looking around at their office mates, and Lucas lowered his voice. "Why would you want to eat lunch in Box 5? It's just a dusty old opera box. And there's not even a rehearsal going on today."

"I don't know. . something one of my tourists said." Rosalie said in a hushed tone. " I just. . I just wanted to finally see what the Phantom saw when he sat there. . . "

Lucas rolled his eyes "Oh God, Rosie," he said with an exasperated tone in his voice, "When are you ever going to let that old legend rest? For goodness sake," he continued, looking her in the eyes and beginning to speak very slowly, "It. Is. A. Work. Of. Fiction."

"I know that!" she smacked him jokingly on the arm. "But listen!" she leaned in even closer and whispered, her eyes glistening. "I found something."

Lucas folded his arms in front of his chest, "Oh really?" he asked in a placating tone. "What did you find? A cape? Or maybe a half mask. . .Angel wings?"

Rosalie narrowed her eyes in annoyance, "Oh very funny! No, I found a staircase."

He continued to look at her skeptically, "A staircase? Is that the box's great mystery?"

"Yes, Lucas, a staircase." It was difficult for Rosalie to remain quiet as she described her finding. "I felt this bump in the wall behind the brocade."

"Oh that's not normal at all for a 100 + year old building! Couldn't have been a nail pop!"

"It very well COULD have been a nail pop," she agreed, irritation beginning to enter her voice, "But it wasn't. I pressed down on the bump, and the wall opened."

"What do you mean, the wall opened?"

"Just what I said. A section of the wall opened, like a door, and through the door, there was a staircase."

"So you found another prop access-way?"

"I thought so at first," she began, remembering the strange feeling of electricity that had filled her in the space, "but this one is different. It was completely unfinished stone, no lights-but a sconce that might have held a torch at one point. The stairs were carved right out of the stone and appeared to wind both upward and downward. The passage was narrow, so I couldn't imagine any scenery or props that would even fit-and besides, what kind of props or scenery would they be bringing to one of the boxes? And the door truly did seem to simply appear out of the wall. There was no indication it was even there before I found the bump. After finding it, I could see the very slight outline in the wall, but honestly, it was extremely well hidden."

"Uh huh." Lucas said, dismissively. "I will admit, it is a. . .different. . .kind of thing to find, but in a building this old, there are bound to be little nooks and crannies that maybe even the owners don't know about. Or maybe they do, but if the stairway's as narrow as you say, they didn't feel it was worth finishing."

Rosalie nodded, although she wasn't necessarily convinced. "True. . .but there was this. . .strange atmosphere in the box as well. I just had a feeling. . ."

"That's the Phantom fan-girl in you talking, Rosie. Box 5 is no different from all the other boxes-except that it's probably a bit more dusty, since it's never used. Besides, I would have expected you to be exploring the stage, not an empty box."

Rosalie looked at him quizzically. "Lucas, what are you talking about?"

"Well, there was no rehearsal going on-the auditorium was closed. I know how much you like to sing, I'm just saying it would have been the perfect opportunity for you to try out the stage-sing a little aria or something. I know you can sing them."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "I like this job and I want to keep it. If I go traipsing around on the stage, I could get fired!"

"More likely, promoted." Lucas countered. "I've heard you singing to yourself, Rosie, when you think no one's around. You have a very nice voice. You know that. "

"I know that you and my other friends say that. I just don't really sing for other people. " Rosalie waved of his idea. "Besides, I have no training other than glee club and singing along with my iPod. That does not an opera singer make."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Maybe one of these days _I_ should go check out Box 5 and you can sing me a song from the stage." Lucas ran a tender finger down her cheek. She thought he was being sweet until he added, in a teasing tone "And when you have finished, I shall flap my wings and applaud like a good little Angel of Music."

Rosalie glared at him, and answered in a dry tone. "You're hilarious. Jerk." She shook her head, "And we both have work to do." She began to move back to her desk, when Lucas stopped her by putting his hand on her wrist.

"Maybe we could go out tonight? See a movie? Go back to my place?" he looked her in the eyes, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Rosalie took a deep breath. "I'd love to see a movie tonight, Lucas," she answered as she smiled.

XXXXXXXXXXX

There had been a lot to do at work, since the paperwork for the gala performance was starting to roll in. Rosalie and Lucas had little time for socializing the rest of the afternoon, beyond the occasional wink across desks when their eyes happened to meet. Still, the tension in the air between them had dissolved, and Rosalie found herself looking forward to their date that evening.

As they were leaving, Rosalie was once again thinking about her strange visit to Box 5. When Lucas put his arm around her shoulder, however, her thoughts began to focus on their evening and on what movie they should see. They walked and talked easily, Lucas's arm around her shoulder, hers around his waist, on their way to the theater. When they passed Lucas's apartment on the way, however, he informed her that he had to run in to grab some more cash. Rosie waited in the entry way while he ran into his bedroom to grab his money. He returned to her after a moment, smiling, walking over to her and placing two hands on the wall she was leaning against, effectively pinning her against it. He leaned down for a kiss, which she was happy to return. When their lips separated, he whispered, "You really are so incredibly beautiful, Rosie." He kissed her again, and muttered, against her lips, "And I want you so much." He pressed more tightly against her, so she could get a much clearer impression of how much he really did want her in that moment.

Rosalie let out a nervous giggle and pressed against his chest with her palms. "Lucas, we're going to miss the movie."

"Forget the movie, Rose." he began kissing her neck, "I think I'd rather we stay in tonight."

"Lucas," she said again, and he groaned in response, beginning to run his hands down her body. "Lucas!" she said more sharply, finally breaking the spell he was trying to create.

"What?" Lucas asked, finally stopping.

"What are you doing?" she asked, uncomfortably. "I thought we were going to the movies."

"And I thought things were going to be different." Lucas returned. "After this afternoon, when you apologized."

"I said I was sorry for pushing you away-for hurting you. And then you asked me to the movies."

"Right, but when you said you were sorry for pushing me away, I thought you had reconsidered your feelings. I thought maybe we could be together tonight after the movies, but then, I figured we both want each other, who cares about the movies." He paused and looked her in the eyes. "You do want me, Rosie, don't you?"

Rosalie sighed, "Lucas, I don't know. I. . ." she continued as she saw his face fall and his eyes look toward the floor. "I think I do. I want to spend time with you, but I just don't think I'm ready to sleep with you. I mean, that's a big step." She reached out to touch his face, but he pulled away.

"OK, Rose." he said, taking a step back. "You don't want to sleep with me. That's fine. But I want you. And knowing how much I want you, I don't think we can do this anymore."

"What?" She said confused.

"Rosie, I can't keep spending time with you, getting myself all hot and bothered, and then getting nothing in return. I want to take the next step. You don't. It's that simple. So I think we should just end it now so that we don't keep confusing one another."

Rosalie looked at Lucas moment longer in disbelief. "Are you seriously breaking up with me because I don't want to sleep with you?"

"A month is a long time, Rosie."

"Not really."

"It is, when you are constantly being rejected."

Rosalie was incredulous. "How am I constantly rejecting you? We're together almost every day at work. We go out almost every night. We hug, we kiss, we laugh. Just because I don't want to have sex yet, that's a rejection?"

"It is when it's keeping me from accepting other offers." Lucas said, a cold look covering his face.

Rosalie took a step toward the door, looking at him one last time with a stunned expression. "Well, far be it from me to stand in your way, Lucas." She reached for the doorknob and hurried out, slamming the door on their relationship.

**Thanks again for reading!**

**SO, anyone on the fence about Lucas, how do you feel about him now?**

**What did you think about Rosalie's mysterious discovery in Box 5?**


	4. Chapter 4 Into the Dark

**WOW! Your reviews have been so much fun, I decided to post an extra chapter! Yes, I agree, Lucas is scum, and Rose rocks for standing up to him. Now, the moment many of you are waiting for! Alisialy: Check to see if Rose followed your instructions. :)  
**

4. Into the Dark

Rosalie walked. She wasn't walking to her apartment. She wasn't walking to any particular destination. She just walked aimlessly, trying to piece together what had just happened in her mind.

Lucas had dumped her. They had been friends, worked well together as office mates, and had had a lot of fun together dating, and still, he dumped her. All because of sex. Or lack thereof, she supposed.

She shook her head in anger. She had been through this before. All through high school and college, in fact. She had never been a girl who had trouble getting guys to ask her out. She really was quite pretty-tall, with long blond hair and bright green eyes. She had a ready smile and a friendly personality. She was smart, and musical, and people definitely wanted to be around her. It was just that they didn't tend to want to stick around-at least guys didn't.

She had had plenty of dates, and had even been in several relationships, but she had never been able to allow herself to take that next step. She had never been swept away by a guy-never felt that unquenchable passion. She had known plenty of great guys-Lucas was a perfect example-smart, funny, handsome. But none of them had ever been able to light a fire in her soul, and she had never been able to force herself to settle for less than that.

She seriously wondered if there was something wrong with her. She was 23 years old and still a virgin. In this day and age, that was nearly unheard of. Maybe she was expecting too much from love. Maybe that fiery passion really did only exist in movies and legends, and it wasn't something that was truly real. But then she thought about her parents, who had been together for so long. Even at the time of their death, they'd still had that sparkle in their eyes when they looked at each other, and had still referred to each other as "Love," and "Honey." Her father had always treated her mother like his very own princess, and she knew that to her mother, her dad had always been her prince. Her mother always preferred her father's company over that of anyone else in the world, except for Rosalie, and he had always felt the same about her. She wanted that for herself-her mother had taught her to accept nothing less when it came to relationships. But Rosalie was beginning to wonder if her high expectation was going to mean that she was going to end up being alone.

Rosalie stopped walking and looked up. Before her were the marble likenesses of music and dance, of drama and of song. Above her were medallions in honor of Mozart, Beethoven, Rossini and Halevy. The mighty Apollo stood sentinel on the roof, flanked by gilded figures of harmony and poetry. Somehow she had made her way back to the opera house, the building once again calling her in the dark. So much for walking aimlessly.

She knew she should turn around and go home, but suddenly she had a compelling urge to go back inside-back to Box 5. She knew she shouldn't-she had no reason to be here right now. But her brain knowing it was a bad idea did not translate into her feet turning her body around. No, instead she walked up to the front doors and used her employee key to get inside.

Rosalie knew that there were still people working somewhere in the building, but with the majority of the staff gone home for the night, the building was pretty quiet. As softly as she tried to walk up the main staircase, her footfalls still echoed in the empty hall. Her heart was thumping, completely convinced that someone was going to hear her and question why she was here, but somehow she managed to make it to the boxes without alerting anyone to her presence. As she approached her destination, she didn't dare turn on the corridor light, for fear that she would attract attention, so, relying on her penlight instead, she turned her key in the lock.

It was harder to see the rich appointments of the box in the dim glow of her penlight, but that same charged atmosphere that Rosalie had felt earlier in the day remained. There was definitely something about Box 5 that set it apart from the other opera boxes she had visited. The enduring smell of rose petals once again tickling her nose, Rosalie searched the wall with her hand for the "bump" in the wall. With a little feeling around, she was able to find the irregular spot and pressed. Once again the wall shifted and opened to reveal the stone stairwell. Rosalie took a deep breath and entered, hoping beyond hope that the battery in her little penlight wouldn't fail her now.

Up or down, she thought to herself. As she glanced in each direction, she felt an undeniable pull downward. OK, she thought, down it is.

Step after step, Rosalie descended deeper and deeper into the dark, and yet the staircase still wound before her, ever downward. How far did these stairs go? Surely she had traveled far below the ground floor of the opera house. She had only been one floor up when she had entered through the Phantom's Box. But now, these stairs seemed endless. Where would they lead? Rosalie had just begun to consider turning back when she heard something that drew her on.

Rushing water.

Rosalie quickly traveled the final few steps and shone her penlight on the floor before her. She could see shadowy objects all around her, but what really drew her attention was what she could hear. She followed the sound until her pen light glistened on green liquid. "Phantom's Lake," she whispered to herself. She had somehow found the lake which ran beneath the opera house.

The air was misty as she walked to the edge of the lake. She knelt down and trailed her fingers in the cold, quickly rushing water. She could not believe it. She knew, of course, that there really had been a lake beneath the opera house-a necessity created by Charles Garnier, during the construction phase of the building, to deal with the persistent problem of running water beneath the foundation. Still, to her knowledge, the lake had been grated up long ago, inaccessible to anyone any longer. Yet here she knelt, running her fingers through the water, her penlight casting an eerie green glow on the ripply surface.

As her eyes followed the trajectory of the waterway, she noticed something bobbing gently with the current. Moving closer to get a better look, she realized she was staring at what appeared to be ruined remains of a small wooden boat, secured to the water's edge by a tattered and threadbare rope.

A chill ran down Rosalie's spine, as she remembered a part of a haunting melody she had heard countless times since her youth. "_I remember there was mist_," she sang softly to herself as she looked around again, taking in the scene around her that seemed eerily familiar. "_Swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake. There were candles all around,_" she reached out and touched the wooden remnants of the vessel before her. "_And on the lake there was a boat. And in the boat there was a_," she looked up and all around her, feeling a shiver down her spine, "_man. . ."_ Her voice trailed off into a whisper as she got to the final word of her song. She was sure she had heard-or felt-something behind her. There had been some soft shifting of the air, a hushed rustle of fabric. But as she turned to look behind her, her pen light's glow sputtered and blew out.

In an instant, there was nothing but darkness all around her. She smacked her penlight against her palm, muttering, "Come on, come ON," but nothing. Suddenly the pitch blackness around her felt suffocating. She scrambled to her feet and desperately tried to find her way back to the staircase that had led her to this dismal prison. She put her arms out in front of her, hoping to connect with some wall along which she could scrape her way back to the exit, but it was hopeless. It was as if she were reaching out into nothingness all around her and she was sure that she would be trapped in the dark forever. A chilling thought filled her mind. No one knew she had come here. No one even knew that HERE existed! She had entered a forgotten realm and now she would surely be forgotten too. "Lucas," she muttered, as her heart raced. Would he think to try and find the mysterious staircase hidden in Box 5? Given their last parting, would he even care to look for her?

Abruptly, a sharp pain erupted in her forehead as she ran into something hard and unforgiving. Though the underground chamber remained in eternal darkness, bright lights flashed behind her eyes. She could feel herself losing whatever tenuous grip she had had on reality, and as she began to collapse the stone floor below, her final sensation was of a pair of arms catching her before she could hit the ground.

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He looked down at the form which filled his arms. So soft, so fragile, golden hair cascading down toward the ground, eyelids closed over eyes which had seemed so frightened just moments ago.

How did this happen? How could this have happened? How had she gotten into his lair? Why would she come here? No one had come here since that night-so long ago-when an angry mob surely thought they had killed him in revenge for the deaths of Joseph Buquet and Ubaldo Piangi. That night when he had been visited by death but refused admittance into hell.

He had lain there, on the banks of the lake for days, weeks. . . years?. . . hoping that Death would change its mind. Sometimes he would cry out and beg for mercy. Others he would challenge and cajole Death, accusing it of being afraid of the mighty Phantom. But in return, there was always silence, only silence.

How he had dreamed, in those darkest hours, when even breathing was torture, and fevers burned bright in his head, that somehow Christine would change her mind and come back for her Angel. She would gather him in her arms, healing his wounds with her kisses, strengthening his heart with her song. He would become whole in her love, and she would bring a little ray of light to his kingdom of darkness.

But she did not come.

And so, in time-he knew not how long-he crawled back to his bed shaped like a casket, and he just lay there, dormant-not dead, but no longer living. He waited for the release which he knew would not come. Eventually, he closed his eyes. But he did not sleep. No, he ached.

Until he heard her sing.

The girl by the lake, who had sung him alive with her song. She had sung with such wonder, such fascination. The melody had seemed so familiar and her voice so crystalline, so pure. It was as if a bell had rung, to rouse him from his stupor. She sang the way Christine had sung, her emotions so undeniable in her song. She had reminded him of those days when he had been Christine's Angel of Music, and he would teach her, and she would sing. A smile crept across his lips as he remembered how she hadn't really needed his tutelage-her voice had always been perfection. But he had needed her warmth, he'd needed her light. And when she had gone, the light had gone with her, and left only darkness-nothing but darkness-until this girl with the crystal voice and the golden hair happened upon his lake, bringing her own little ray of light.

He snapped out of his memories, and gazed upon her face once more. He could feel her still racing heart begin to slow within her chest, even as her breathing began to ease into a steady, restful pattern. He felt a sudden impulse in his chest, to protect this little nightingale from all that could hurt her. Acting on that impulse, he stood with her in his arms, to carry her. . . .where? He could certainly not lay her down in his bed. Awakening in a coffin could make her die of fright. But the only other bed where he could place her had been. . .had belonged to . . .well, it would have to be. There was no avoiding it, and besides, Christine was gone. He gently placed this frail visitor in the bed that was shaped like a beautiful swan. He fought back sharp memories of the last woman he had lain down in this bed. He hoped his visitor would rest there until whatever sorrows had brought her here-how HAD she come to be here?- would no longer be able to find her.

**Well, there you have it. She found the lair. But she forgot to lay down her trail of breadcrumbs, so now she is stuck. No matter. Erik to the rescue! LOL **

**Please let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5 Awakening

**Rosalie's had a good night's sleep in the swan bed-now let's see what happens the next morning.**

5. Awakening

Rosalie opened her eyes to see. . .darkness. For a moment, she had no idea where she was, and she felt a pang of intense fear. But then she heard the sound of rushing water, and she remembered her journey down the secret staircase in Box 5. She had followed the long, dark stairwell deep into the earth, and finally she had found the lake, and the remains of a boat. She remembered that her penlight had gone out and that she must have hit her head. . ."Oww," she muttered to herself, brushing her hand against her forehead and confirming a large, painful lump. She remembered falling, and then. . ."Did someone catch me before I passed out?" she wondered out loud. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she remembered a pair of strong arms catching her and stopping her fall.

She opened her eyes again, wider than before. She realized then, that the darkness was not as inky black as it had been before, and she could tell that she was no longer collapsed on the banks of the underground lake but instead lying in some type of bed. It was soft and warm against the chill of the air around her. "How did I get here?" she asked herself in wonder.

She looked around herself in fascination. Candles. Somehow candles were glowing all around her and she could make out more of the shapes that had been just shadows the night before. She rose from the bed- which she could see now was shaped like "a Swan?"-and began to explore the shadowy realm that surrounded her.

On one wall of the cavern, there was an ornate wooden book shelf, but the books it must once have held lay in a messy heap on the floor. Rosalie knelt to discover dozens of hard covered classics, laying scattered among scientific texts and architectural tomes. "The Picture of Dorian Gray," she read on the cover of one of the dusty books, feeling a slight chill when she recalled that particular story. She rose, and continued on. She found a disheveled desk with pencils and charcoals strewn about. Stacked on the floor were countless pictures-all portraits, all seeming to be of the same beautiful girl with long dark hair. In each one, there seemed to be a sadness in her eyes. She ventured forward a few steps more, in the direction of the rushing waters, into a much larger chamber. An entire wall of this room was obscured by a mighty pipe organ. Rosalie walked over and wiped dust from a few of the keys, and noted some scratches and dents in the wooden casing of the magnificent instrument. Near the organ stood a dusty old grand piano, and on the floor nearby, there was a violin with a broken neck. She walked over and stroked the instrument, sad that it had been so carelessly abused. All around her, Rosalie saw papers that looked to be handwritten pages of sheet music, randomly scattered about. This subterranean cavern held myriad treasures, but nothing was being properly cared for-it seemed as if this whole level had simply been. . .forgotten. And yet, it was all so familiar. "Could this be the Opera Ghost's Lair?" she wondered out loud. Lucas's words replayed in her mind. "Work. Of. Fiction." She knew, she knew. But she also knew that Gaston Leroux had spent much time exploring the opera house, and he himself insisted that the Phantom had been real. It had always been thought to be a literary device to increase the interest in his book. But what if it wasn't? What if he had been telling the truth all along?

Another thought entered her mind, as she felt a terrible sense of foreboding fill her soul. Someone had helped her into that bed. Those arms that had caught her. She was certain now that she had not imagined them, nor the presence that she had sensed just before her penlight died. Had Lucas followed her down here after all? No. She was certain it could not have been him. He would have had a flashlight-hell, he never would have let her get down this far. No, it could not have been Lucas. But who?

Rosalie walked a little farther along the lake. She could see now where the staircase began that would lead her back up to Box 5. On the wall beside it, there was another sconce, much like the one right inside the opening by the Phantom's Box, but in this one, there was a lit torch-as if someone was expecting her to use the torch to make a journey upward. She figured it was time to do just that, but before she did she took a final look around.

On the floor near the entry to the stairs, lay another discarded musical score. This piece, however, seemed to be many pages long and was surprisingly bound together with black cord. She reached down and picked it up, tracing her fingers over the letters written in swirly hand. "Don Juan Triumphant. . ." With a gasp, she whispered, "Phantom."

Suddenly she heard an angry, spectral voice boom all around her. "GO NOW! GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!"

Terror seized Rosalie's heart. She grabbed the torch that was burning by the staircase and raced blindly up the endless stairs, the voice still echoing around her. On she ran, becoming breathless, since the ascent into the opera house was steep, and there were so many stairs. When she finally reached Box 5, she feared she might be trapped once again until she noticed that the door in the wall was still open before her.

Once in the box, she quickly pressed the secret button to close the opening in the wall. She didn't dare take a breath until she was out in the corridor, locking the box door behind her. She slumped against the wall a few moments so that she could gather her wits about her. She had no idea what had just happened, but she knew that there was more going on in the opera basement than a secret lake and forgotten treasure.

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Erik sighed deeply in frustration. "I sent her away," he groaned, as he rose to pace his lair once more. The only living soul that had entered his domain in-how long? So young, and curious, and "so very beautiful," he whispered, as he remembered how the firelight had glistened in her eyes. And he had sent her away. He raked his hands through his thin hair in disgust.

He glared at the wasteland that had been his home. So many of his beloved instruments destroyed by the mob-his prized compositions scattered like refuse all over his floor. His gaze fell upon the one that had caused his visceral reaction-Don Juan Triumphant. He walked over and knelt by the score. "I sent her away because of a song," he tossed the pages down in disgust and looked away. But it had not been just any song. It was the song which he had sung with Christine on the stage of the opera. He had given her his heart, his soul that night, in front of all to see, and later he had brought her here to make her his bride. Of course their marriage had never happened, but still it had been Christine's song. He'd let the girl sleep in Christine's bed, but the song had been sacred between them. Music had always been sacred between them. It had been the only true bond between Erik and Christine. And if that girl, with the voice of a lark, had tried to sing even one word of that song. . .he could not say how he would react. But now, because of the song, the girl was gone.

Erik laughed a little to himself in disgust. "Well, really," he asked himself, "Did you expect her to stay? One look at this face would have taken care of that!" No, she never would have stayed. A corpse has no right to expect to live in the light. . .

And yet, she knew him. He distinctly heard her wonder if she had found the Opera Ghost's lair, and later, when she found his score, she had looked at it as if in recognition, saying his name. No, not Erik, but the title by which anyone who crossed his path called him. One of the two names by which Christine knew him . . . Was his old menacing reputation still alive? Did people still tell stories of the Opera Ghost?

Erik surveyed his domain once more. Something white peeking out from under the debris of his former life caught his eye. He drifted over and reached for the object of his attention. His mask. Erik smiled ruefully to himself. How this had survived the mob, he would never know, but he lifted the cold leather to his face and fastened it behind his head.

Now there was only one thing to do. He returned to his casket, now properly outfitted for his eternal fermata. He lay his frame inside the satin lined wooden box, folding his hands across his chest, but after trying for hours, he found he could no longer close his eyes.

It seemed that the Phantom lived once more.

**Yay. The Phantom lives. Now what's he gonna do? (Hopefully clean up the lair a bit.)**

**Please review and let me know what you think! If you do, I may post another chapter later. **


	6. Chapter 6 The Phantom's Return

6. The Phantom's Return

The days start. The days end.

At least Erik assumed they did. It was rather difficult to tell in this black hell hole he had created for himself. The passage of time was something he assumed, but no longer experienced.

Having discovered that his mind would no longer allow his body the latent interlude that he had enjoyed before his nighttime visitor, Erik stalked his lair, needing some outlet for his frustration at being stuck here, trapped in a life that no longer seemed worth living-not that it ever really had.

He sat down at his organ-the majestic instrument he had built to his own exacting specifications. The damage the mob had done was simply cosmetic-hateful, all the same, but at least it should still play. He played a C chord, and then an F. Maddeningly out of tune, but that was to be expected. He could fix it easily enough.

His fingers began to roam across the keys, and Erik expected them to lead him into that blissful oblivion where he could escape torment for just a little while. But it seemed that his fingers had lost their way. He called to his music, but the music betrayed him. It would not come. Oh, he remembered all the mechanics of what he should do. He knew every key intimately, had caressed every chord. But the heart of the music was gone. It was hollow. It had no life, no passion. And music without passion was just noise.

Erik slammed his fist down on the keys in frustration. "Dear God!" he bellowed, "How much more must I endure!"

Erik rose and paced his chamber. He picked up a book and threw it across the room. It landed near the stairs, which reminded him of his unexpected guest. How long had it been since her visit? Days? Weeks? Erik could not be sure. But it was she who had changed the state of his miserable existence. It was she who sang the breath back into his lungs, the beat back into his heart. And even though she had gone, he was left still living-a wretched existence to be sure, and one which would not relent.

These walls, built so lovingly by his own hands to be a haven, a retreat from the world, had become his prison cell for too long. And while life stubbornly insisted on continuing its residence in his body, he could quickly feel his last remnants of sanity slipping away in this infernal solitude.

"Could this be," his visitor had said, "the Opera Ghost's Lair?" She had referred to him as Phantom. Was it really possible that he was still remembered, still feared? Was it time for another appearance of the Opera Ghost? How long had it been, truly, since he'd haunted the Palais Garnier, traversed its secret corridors, checked in on his managers?

Too long was the only answer he could decide upon, as he made his first silent footfalls on the stone steps that would lead him back to Box 5. It was time for the Phantom to make his return.

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It had been 2 weeks since the night Rosalie spent beneath the opera. That time had been packed with preparations for the gala performance. From organizing seating reservations to arranging catering menus, she had been far too busy to worry about her breakup with Lucas. They both still occupied the same office space, but were so swamped by work that they barely spoke, and when they did it was only work related. Rosalie had so many duties crossing her desk, that she even passed off her beloved opera house tours to another guide who did not have as many extra responsibilities at the moment. Of course, many of those extra responsibilities were ones that Rosalie eagerly took upon herself. Someone else could easily have done them, but passing off the tours for the moment kept her away from Box 5.

Keeping away from Box 5 was a very good idea on her part. Her night beneath the opera house had been haunting her since her return above. That morning, when she emerged, it had been very early-before her shift began. She hurriedly ran home and called in sick. Her head had been throbbing and she could not stop her hands from trembling. Rest, she thought. She needed to rest. But as she sat on her small sofa and gingerly closed her eyes, all she could see was that green lake, flowing into that deep dark cavern. As she sank into the soft pillows, all she could feel were those arms that prevented her from falling-arms which surely belonged to a body never seen. When she woke in the mornings, all she could remember was that swan shaped bed from which she had arisen-so elegantly beautiful, and yet so strange. Had those arms carried her there? Had those arms belonged to the same voice that had sent her away?

That strange chamber below the opera teased at her thoughts every waking moment, and had taken over her dreams. It was uncanny how well it fit into the Phantom of the Opera lore. Of course she knew that Gaston Leroux visited below the opera house while he was researching his book. But still-it was just too eerily familiar. And those arms. . .her thoughts kept coming back to that moment when she was falling. She knew someone had caught her. And yet, no one at the opera ever mentioned the underground chamber. It was as if no one knew it even existed. But somehow, someone was there. She knew that she could not bear to look at Box 5 now right now-not even from outside. But she could not be sure if she was avoiding it because she was afraid of what she had found at the bottom of the stairs that night, or if it was because she wanted to go back.

It was nearing the end of her shift when her boss walked over to her desk and asked if she could check on some measurements of the staging area for him before she left for the night. The set people wanted to get started building Phantom's Lair for the Gala. She was a bit surprised that Mr. Bellamy had tasked her with the job, but he told her, kindly, that he'd noticed she'd taken quite an interest in all aspects of the gala preparations, and he thought he'd give her a little more responsibility. She could not help but feel at least a small measure of excitement that Mr. Bellamy had noticed her work, so Rosalie eagerly made her way to the stage to get the numbers the set staff needed before leaving for home.

The stage was dark again that evening as there was no performance scheduled, and rehearsals for the current ballet production had long since ended. Rosalie stepped out onto the stage with her tape measure and her clipboard. She quickly jotted down the information needed, and was about to go when she turned out to face the seats of the theater.

The view from the stage was magnificent. A sea of red and gold spread out before her, with that glorious chandelier suspended above. Rosalie imagined what it would look like on the gala night-with the red velvet seats all filled and the chandelier dazzling with light. She recalled her childhood dreams of being a singer, and the view from the stage nearly took her breath away. Barely realizing what she was doing, Rosalie quietly began to sing. Acapella, she sang one of her favorite arias. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the fullness that the auditorium acoustics lent to her voice. The more she sang, the stronger her voice became, until, at the end, she trilled through the final cadenza and belted the top Bb flawlessly. She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, breathing rapidly from the rush of the song, when she heard the voice.

"Bravi, bravi, bravissmi."

Rosalie opened her eyes with a start. "Who's there?" she called out, but she could see no one. All of those opulent red velvet seats were still empty, the chandelier still dark. She glanced behind her to see if any of her colleagues had followed her, but the door at the side of the stage was still shut. Suddenly she became aware of a familiar charge in the air, and she slowly looked up toward the opera boxes. There was nothing but a barely discernible shift in the shadows. But it was in Box 5.


	7. Chapter 7 Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh

**Hi All: Thanks again for all the kind reviews! **

**Well, Erik's little slip in Box 5 is going to catch up to him in this chapter. But in the best possible of ways. **

7. Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh

Erik stalked back and forth in his lair. What a fool he had been! Why couldn't he keep his big mouth shut? The world had forgotten him-why give them a reminder? He was now nothing but a myth, a legend! It had been more than 100 years!

100 years. He had lain quiescent over 100 years. When he'd been ascending those steps he himself had hewn from the stone, he'd had no idea that it had been so long. When he ventured up into the opera, using the secret passage into Box 5 he knew right away that things had greatly changed. The people wandering around the opera house were all dressed in ridiculous fashions-outlandish colors, clothing with no form, and some outfits so skimpy that no respectable harlot would be caught dead in them. Worse, it seemed as if ballet was the only thing produced by the opera house anymore. When did THAT happen? They were supposed to be producing opera. Erik thought that fact would be evident from the name of the building. In frustration, Erik stormed his way over to the manager's office to leave one of his famous notes, stating his opinion on the ballet debacle. He was just about to place his choleric missive on the desk when he noticed a calendar book opened before him. The date read September 2015!

How could it be?

He'd had to place a hand on the surface of the desk to steady himself. The world had turned while he lay "aching." The people he'd known-they must all be gone.

Dead and gone.

His Christine. . .

How could it be that his Christine had left this world before him?

Shaken as he was, he slinked back to Box 5 to return to his world of darkness. It was then that he heard the voice. His unbidden visitor!

Erik paused, his hand hovering over the switch in the wall. She had begun to sing in the empty theater, and her voice positively glistened with beauty. She sang so purely, and yet with such color and such life. She truly became one with her music, and in becoming one with the song, she reached straight into whatever remained of his soul, and lifted him in a way that none had done since. . .

No, he could not think of _her_ any longer. Christine, his beautiful, pure, perfect Christine was gone, and the world was emptier for it. He'd had no claim on her anyway. It was always she who had had the claim on him. No one had ever made his spirit soar the way Christine had, and yet, now, listening to this exquisite songbird, he felt almost. . . alive.

He held his breath as she captivated him with her song. When she finished, there were tears in his eyes. As the final note burst forth from her lips like a flower in full bloom, he could not help but respond. Her voice was magical-so much like Christine's that she both broke his heart and made it soar. But he shouldn't have called to her, because when she heard his voice, her eyes opened with alarm. He could see then that they were a luminous green, and despite himself, he moved a bit forward. He just wanted to stare at that face, that beautiful face that had made such glorious music.

He knew he should go, and he turned to press the switch that would allow him back into his lair, but before he took his leave, he saw that she looked right up to Box 5! Her eyes seemed to grow wide with astonishment, and he knew why. Because once again, when a beautiful soprano was concerned, he had been a fool!

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Rosalie heard the soft click as her key opened the door to Box 5. She had hurried back to her office to give her boss the information he'd requested. She'd lingered briefly until Mr. Bellamy left for the evening, grateful that Lucas seemed to have already gone. Finally, she slipped out from behind her desk, as if leaving for the night, but instead she made her way back to Box 5. Someone had been there this evening, and had called to her after she'd foolishly sung on the stage. She'd bet her life that whoever it was was somehow connected to the person who'd caught her the night she fainted in the catacombs and the voice that had demanded she leave. She wasn't sure exactly why this was so all encompassing for her, but she HAD to find out to whom that voice in the shadows belonged. It was all too strange-the secret stairwell, the lake down below that had supposedly been boarded off, the arms reaching out to hold her in the darkness. If she didn't figure out what was going on here, she knew it would drive her to madness.

With trembling hands, Rosalie quickly found the bump in the wall that would open the secret passage. She turned on the Maglite that she had grabbed from the maintenance closet, patting her jeans pocket to be certain the extra batteries were still there. Then she quickly entered the staircase and began her descent below.

She guessed that she must have been about halfway down to the lake when she began to hear the strains of the pipe organ. It was being masterfully played, by some unknown musician. Rosalie began to walk faster to see who was playing so beautifully, but was stopped in her tracks when she heard a man begin to sing. It was a tenor voice, at once lilting and powerful, with such an ethereal timbre that it could have been coming from Heaven itself. It was alternately as strong as a storm and as soft as a sigh, and Rosalie knew that celestial voice would haunt her for the rest of her days. Mesmerized, she drifted forward to the large chamber by the lake to see a dark haired man sitting at the organ-the source of that magnificent voice. He wore an old fashioned white poet's shirt and black pants. She could only see him from behind, but there was an air of nobility about him as he finished his song, and Rosalie could only stare transfixed by the rapturous sound that seemed to burst forth from his very soul.

When he finished singing, he sat there at his organ, head bowed, back heaving as he recovered from the demands of his song.

"It's you," Rosalie said in an awed whisper, her heart beginning to beat faster.

The figure turned with a start. She was not the least bit surprised to see that he wore a white half mask on one side of his face, the other half bearing a look of shock. He obviously had not realized she'd been there. The man in the mask took a moment before he spoke, but when he did, his voice was taut, guarded, "This is the second time you have come unannounced and unbidden into my home, Mademoiselle. I thought I had made my preferences clear the last time, when I showed you out."

"You," Rosalie continued, as if she hadn't even heard him, "didn't let me fall."

He gazed into her eyes, taking a moment before he spoke, defensively. "You had obviously hit your head. If you had fallen you might have been hurt worse, and become even more of a burden to me."

Rosalie took in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "Phantom."

The figure's ice blue eyes blazed behind the mask. "You know me?"

Rosalie nodded slowly. "I have for years. . .I've known your story. Nobody ever believed it was real."

He snorted and gave a rueful smile, "Oh, I assure you, Mademoiselle, I am quite real."

"But those events happened so long ago." she shook her head. "How can you be here?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" he answered with a cynical smirk. "Some things, it seems, do endure."

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Erik looked at his surprise guest, her green eyes so full of wonder and disbelief. Oh, she was so very beautiful, with her long honey blond hair, and her glowing emerald eyes. She was so different from the one who had come before her, and yet, for some unexplainable reason, affected him in much the same way. She had, after all, haunted him since he'd found her that night by the lake-since her voice had woken him from his unrestful slumber. And when he was convinced that his music had abandoned him, it only took hearing her voice a second time to bring it back anew-to allow his heart to soar with song once more.

"How is it that you have come here, Mademoiselle?" he asked, hearing a husky undertone enter his voice. Her presence had unnerved him.

"I. . ." she began, a slight tremor in her voice, "I accidentally found the staircase in Box 5. It was so different from everything else in the opera house. I couldn't help but investigate, and that's what led me here that first night.

"I left when you told me to go, and I swore I would never come back" she looked up at him sheepishly and Erik felt a twinge of regret for having yelled at her so harshly, "But I could not get this place out of my mind. So much of it reminded me of the Phantom legend, " she paused, correcting herself, "Of _your_ legend. And I knew that I had felt someone catch me when I was about to fall.

"And then I heard your voice and saw your shadow in Box 5 this evening," Erik sighed, inwardly. Such a fool he was! Such a complete and utter fool! "I just had to return. I had to know. . ."

"Who had sent you away?" Erik completed her unfinished thought, in a hard voice.

"Who had caught me in his arms and lain me in that bed for the night so that I could rest." she corrected him.

Erik stared at her unspeaking for a moment longer. He felt his heart clutch with a sense of wonder. It was inconceivable that this beauty had been the one to find him after all these years. No one had ever just found his lair before without help. Even the mob had been led by that fop Raoul. And yet this beautiful girl with the honey hair and the golden voice had found it twice.

She should not be here. This was not a place for a vision such as herself, who seemed to embody the very light that had always been his enemy. And yet, he could not deny he was glad she had come. He should be lying in that coffin bed he made for himself, wallowing in the anguish that had gripped him for the past 120 years; and yet he could not deny that hearing her voice made him want to live again for the first time since Christine. For the first time since that long ago night of betrayal, he could not deny that he had a soul, and that his soul had yearned for the emotions he was feeling now-fascination, admiration. . .connection. Yet it was for that very reason that she should not be here because he knew, just as he'd always known, that those feelings never had a chance.

He knew he should send her away once more-board up the door in Box 5, make her return impossible.

But Erik had never been one for doing what he should.

When he remained silent, Rosalie continued, "Have you been here-alone-all this time?"

Erik looked down, and his voice sounded faraway. "It seems, Mademoiselle, that I have been here alone forever."

"Rosalie."

Erik's ice blue eyes glanced up suddenly, meeting her gaze, "Pardon?"

"You keep calling me Mademoiselle," she said, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "My name is Rosalie."

"La Belle Rose" Erik muttered under his breath. It was, of course the perfect name for this beautiful flower now standing before him. When he noticed her staring at him quizzically, he cleared his throat and made a little bow before her. "Enchantez, Mademoiselle Rosalie."

Rosalie shivered slightly at his words, and Erik noticed a slight blush rise to her cheeks. There was a shyness in her voice when she asked, "What shall I call you? I mean," she gave a nervous little chuckle, "I don't think you want me calling you Phantom or Angel, or. . ."

"My name is Erik," he said quickly, his heart wrenching sharply at the mention of the name Angel that Christine had so often used. No one could ever use that name for him again. He had never been worthy of it in the first place.

"Well," she took a deep breath and extended her hand, a full smile now brightening her features. "Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Erik."

On her lips, his name was a benediction, and he felt such a frenzy of emotion begin to well in his soul. Erik looked at her offered hand, so graceful, so elegant. Dare he touch it, and risk staining it with the poison that marred his existence? Tentatively, he reached out and touched her hand with his own, her inviting warmth giving him the courage to close his fingers around hers and say "The pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle Rosalie."

**SO what did you think of their official meeting? The way Rosalie basically refuses to be afraid of him. The way Erik seems so enchanted? **


	8. Chapter 8 A Kiss From A Rose

**HI! I hope you liked their meeting yesterday. Now I know many of you will LOVE this first paragraph. HA! But keep reading. Even more good stuff happens later.**

8. A Kiss From a Rose

"Your home is truly beautiful," Rosalie said, smiling, as she sipped a warm cup of tea in Erik's sitting room. Well, it was now, she thought. When she had first found his lair, it had been in a state of complete disarray. But since her second visit, she noticed that he had tidied up a bit, restocking bookshelves, picking up musical scores from the floor, setting each of his innumerable treasures in their rightful places. Lit candles graced a myriad of curved candelabras, and a warm fire emanated from the hearth. A large Oriental style rug was placed between it, and the Louis XIV style sofa which faced it. It was apparent that Erik appreciated the finer things in life.

And he was certainly a gentleman, Rosalie thought, smiling to herself. When she had arrived, he'd pulled out her chair at the little table where he had laid out a porcelain tea set. Rosalie had brought the tea, and she set out some pastries on the plates while he disappeared into the kitchen to brew a pot.

"Thank you, Rosalie." Erik responded and she thought she saw the hint of a smile behind the mask. "Would you care for more tea?" he asked, reaching out for the pot to pour her another cup.

"Oh no thank you, Erik. I'm still fine," Rosalie waved off his concern. Rosalie found that she was truly enjoying spending some time with such a doting gentleman. Work upstairs in the opera house was approaching a fevered pitch. Invitations were being sent and tickets were being reserved. Catering menus were being planned and designs for the huge Phantom cake to delight and treat all the guests had to be approved. In the auditorium, sets were being made, and lights were being hung. In a few days' time, the gala cast was set to arrive to begin rehearsals. The work kept building, and Rosalie was beginning to really miss the daily break of her opera tour. She was looking forward to reclaiming that job when work for the gala was done. It was somewhat of a miracle that Rosalie was even able to get away to have her tea with Erik.

It did strike her as a little strange, sneaking down to a subterranean chamber to have tea with a masked man-on whom she'd first "met" as a fictional character from over 100 years ago. And yet last night, when it was time for Rosalie to go home to her apartment, it had been hard to leave. Neither one of them had really wanted to say goodbye. And so when Erik invited her to return for tea the following evening, she had graciously accepted. Now as she sat here, she found she had no desire to leave, and she was dying to know more about his continued existence. Could he truly now be a ghost?

"What about you?" she asked. "You've barely touched your tea, and you haven't tried your eclair yet."

Erik looked down at the plate before him, "Forgive me, Rosalie, but I eat very little these days. Perhaps I will try one later." He raised his teacup to his mouth and took the smallest of sips before lowering it again to the table. Rosalie noticed how Erik's mask blocked half of his mouth and realized that it must make eating and drinking difficult. She simply nodded with a smile and resolved not to push him further on the topic.

"So," Erik began, trying to make conversation. Small talk was not something in which Erik had ever really engaged, and he found that he had no idea how to entertain a guest who had not arrived at his home under some sort of duress. The one thing he did know, however, was that he was not ready for her to go. "How long have you been singing with the Opera House?"

Rosalie choked a little on her tea. "Oh," she said, as she reached for a napkin, "I am not a singer."

Erik raised an eyebrow in a questioning expression. "No? When I heard your song the other night, I just assumed that you were the prima donna."

Rosalie coughed some more. Surely she was going to die of embarrassment before this conversation was done. "Oh heavens no!" she said. "I was just pretending to be one on the stage." She looked at him a little sheepishly. "If I had known there was an audience, I never would have sung."

Erik looked aghast. "Why ever not, Rosalie? You sang beautifully."

Rosalie felt a blush creep over cheeks. "Thank you, Erik, but I am no singer. I am just an intern here, doing office work, giving tours."

Erik looked at her with piercing eyes. "Now hear me, Mademoiselle," he began, addressing her formally to add to the intensity of his statement. "I have heard many singers in my day. Living beneath the opera house, it is hard to avoid. I have known some of the world's most exquisite voices. Yesterday, on the stage, I met another."

Rosalie felt warm emotion spread in her chest, and her voice caught in her throat as she said softly, "Thank you, Erik. That means a lot, coming from you." For a few intense moments, there was only silence. Erik's eyes positively glowed with an unnatural light as he looked at her. It was both unnerving and breathtaking.

Rosalie was the first to break the silence. "Was La Carlotta also one of the best?"

Erik covered his face with both hands as he groaned, "That cow's bellow could make paint peel directly off the wall."

Rosalie laughed out loud at Erik's pained expression. "Was it really that bad?"

"It was worse," he continued to rant, becoming more animated as he went. "Night after night of hearing that murderess strangle the life out of song after song!" He shuddered. "It was enough to drive one mad."

"And Christine?" Rosalie asked before thinking. She was immediately sorry she had asked, when she saw a look of sorrowful yearning enter into his eyes.

"Christine," Erik began, his gaze far away, his voice hushed with reverence, "Was exquisite. Her voice was of the heavens. She truly was an Angel of Music." He lowered his gaze and Rosalie was horrified to see tears welling in his eyes. Oh damn, damn, damn. Why had she asked?

"Erik, I'm sorry,"she said, remorseful for mentioning his lost love.

"It's alright, Rosalie." He responded, kindly. He took a deep breath and questioned, "How do you know so much about me?"

"Well, over 100 years ago, an author named Gaston Leroux released a book called 'La Fantome de L'Opera,' and it told the tragic story of a great genius who lived beneath the Palais Garnier and loved the beautiful soprano Christine Da'ae." She looked up at Erik to see his expression, but he seemed stoic, guarded.

"That does not seem like much of a story, Rosalie." He said in a deliberately even tone. "What more does it say?"

"Well," Rosalie began again, cautiously, trying to tread lightly, since she already felt horribly for mentioning Christine. "The story goes that the Phantom was a great genius who had been disfigured from birth. He could master almost any art-especially the arts of music and architecture-but" she paused, and swallowed before she could go on, "He was hated by all-even his own mother-because of the disfigurement of his face. Shortly after birth, his mother had forced him to wear a mask constantly in her presence. She never loved him, and would not even give him a kiss on his birthday."

Rosalie noticed Erik's expression darken, and she wondered if she should continue. "Erik, I should stop. . ."

"No, no," he waved off her concern, giving her a tight smile, "Please do go on. I'm fine."

She looked at him a moment longer before continuing, not entirely certain it was a good idea. "Ok, well, the Phantom goes through his entire life, able to do marvelous things, but met everywhere with hatred and derision, all because of his face. Eventually, he manages to help to build this very Opera House. In the process, he adds in lots of secret passages and trap doors-which was something he excelled at, since he had, at one time, built torture chambers for the Shah of Persia. And underneath the opera, deep, deep in the bowels of the building, he built himself a home near the underground lake." She smiled here, since they were sitting in the very house at the moment. When she saw Erik also smile, she continued.

"Since the Phantom built the Opera House and passionately loved music, he wanted to have a part in the Opera House's success. But he also wanted to escape from the world which had caused him such sorrow. So, he fashioned himself into a ghost. He would send notes to the managers of the Opera demanding things to be done in certain ways, always signing them O.G.-Opera Ghost-and since they were a suspicious lot, and believed that there truly WAS a ghost, they did whatever he said. Until Christine."

Erik nodded, closing his eyes.

An expression of wistful longing had overtaken his face. Rosalie looked at him as she continued. "Christine Da'ae,"she faltered. "Was a beautiful young girl who had just lost her father. She loved to sing, and the Phantom offered to give her voice lessons, telling her he was The Angel of Music about whom her father had spoken; Christine never saw the Phantom, because he hid behind walls and only allowed her to hear his voice, but secretly, the Phantom loved Christine. He never let her know he was a real man until Raoul presented himself as a suitor. He came to her that night, and whisked her away to his world beneath the Opera. When Christine unmasked him out of curiosity, it set in motion a terrible chain of events." Rosalie stopped, seeing his hand clutch the arm of his chair tightly. The color had left his face, and she could see that he was trembling slightly. "Erik, I am sorry, I shouldn't. . ."

"No, please!" Erik snapped with irritation, not opening his eyes, not looking at her. Purposely softening his tone a bit, he added. "Please, go on."

Rosalie could not imagine the grief that Erik was reliving at this moment, as he listened to her recount his tragic life story. She did not want to go on, but Erik's plea was compelling. With another deep sigh, she finished her tale. "When Christine saw his face, she was terrified. She ran from him-the man who had, until this point, only been her friend. She took comfort in her childhood love Raoul, and that drove the Phantom into madness. He committed. . . murders," she forced the words, not wanting them to leave her lips. "And he dropped the grand chandelier during a performance-missing Christine, but killing one of the opera patrons. Raoul set a trap to catch him, during a performance of his own opera, where Christine betrayed him and unmasked him in front of the whole audience. He drew her back down to his lair once more, with plans to force her to marry him right there-but Raoul came to rescue her, and the Phantom made her make a horrific choice between her angel and her lover. It was then, that the Phantom received his first kiss, as Christine showed him a small measure of the compassion that the world had never shown. And it was then, at the moment when his love finally chose him, that the Phantom made the ultimate sacrifice and let her go."

Erik was silent, lost deep in his own thoughts, his blue eyes seemingly miles away.

"Erik?" Rosalie whispered, desperately hoping she would be able to reach him. "Erik, are you alright?"

"Monster," he muttered thickly.

"What?" Rosalie asked, confused.

"I am a monster." Erik spat, angrily.

"Erik," Rosalie said, calmly, trying so hard to reach him, "I don't think you're a monster. I never thought of you as a monster."

Erik rose in a burst of temper, rattling the table a bit as he did. "Of course I am a monster!" he raged, stalking the floor. "In your book, Mademoiselle," he turned to ask her with disgust dripping from his lips, "Did you skip over the pages where I was a cold blooded murderer and abductor? What I put that poor girl through. . ." he trailed off and looked away. "Perhaps, Mademoiselle, time has come for you to go."

Rosalie rose from the little table and silently walked over to the steps. She placed her hand on the wall of the stairwell, but before she took her leave, she turned back to see that Erik was slumped on the couch now, his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Rosalie could tell he was quietly sobbing. It pained her to see it. Her voice was full of compassion, when she said, "You should have known love." She saw Erik begin to still as she continued, "You should have known tenderness, and compassion, and friendship, and respect, but most of all, you should have known love. And you never did. I cannot condone the things you did, but I can neither stand here and condemn the lost, sorrowful man who did them. You should have known love, Erik. I think things would have been different if you had."

Rosalie turned to go. With her foot on the first step, she heard a gravelly voice ask, "What of Christine?"

Rosalie stopped and turned back to Erik. He did not look up, but the sobbing had stopped. "I abducted her. Made her fear for the life of her lover. Made her to look upon this cursed face!"

"She left you."

Finally, Erik looked up to stare at her, incredulously. "What would you have had her do? Stay with the monster when the mob was coming to attack? She could have been hurt, or worse." He shook his head as he remembered. "I never would have forgiven myself."

"I just cannot understand how she could have betrayed you in the first place."

"She saw this face!" he exclaimed, a little too loudly, gesturing to his face with his hands.

"Yet, she'd heard your voice." she began to slowly walk over to where he sat, kneeling in front of him, so that they were eye to eye. "She'd known the kindness of your soul. You are _more_ than your face, Erik. A face does not make a monster."

Erik stared at her, dumbfounded, as if the breath had gone out from him. "What of the murders?" he asked in a hushed voice.

Rosalie paused. "Like I said before, I cannot condone the murders, Erik. You know they were wrong. But, you were broken and you were desperate. You had been beaten, tortured and ridiculed your entire life. It is not an excuse, but I guess I can understand why, when you lashed out in anger, it was violent and destructive."

Erik looked at her, his eyes bathed in emotions that Rosalie could not exactly read. A single tear ran down his exposed cheek, and Rosalie reached out with her finger to brush it away. It was as if a bolt of electricity shot through his body, and he shuddered at her touch. He reached up and held her palm against his cheek a silent moment more. When she did not pull her hand away, Erik quietly began, "When the mob came, I let them find me. I wanted to die, Rosalie. You speak of Christine's betrayal, but in truth, she was the first one in my life to show me even a modicum of kindness-even the hope of love. When she was gone, I had no more reason to go on. So I lay there and I let them beat, and burn, and tear at my flesh. It mattered not. My heart was gone. I was hoping for release, for even hell-which was surely my destination-seemed a respite from the emptiness which filled me. "

Rosalie felt her own heart breaking as she listened to him speak. Oh, the horrors this man had suffered. All because of his damaged face. "What happened, Erik?" she asked, misery coloring her tone.

"I was visited by death," he said with a hollow voice and a vacant stare, ". . .he told me he didn't want me. "

Rosalie shook her head, confused, "I don't understand."

Erik snickered darkly, "Ah, Rosalie, I am afraid I have come to find that the spiritual entities in this world are far less abstract than most mortals think." He continued his tale, "Yes, the Angel of Death-a corporeal being-came to visit me, that night when I was savagely beaten by the mob. You see-your story of the Phantom got many things right. No doubt, my old friend Nadir had much to do with its telling-that Persian never could keep his mouth shut! But as I lay there, wishing for death, the Angel informed me that I was not wanted. "

When Rosalie just waited, Erik continued, rising to pace his lair once more.

"When I was in Persia, I led a twisted existence. As chief torturer and executioner of the Shah, I came to be known by one and by all as The Angel of Death. It was my unofficial title, if you will, and, in all honesty, there was a part of me that reveled in it. For the first time in my life," he paused and looked directly at Rosalie, his eyes begging her to understand, "I knew the fear of respect, instead of the fear of revulsion. I had power and acceptance, for the first time." Erik resumed his pacing and continued his tale. "But I grew too powerful, and soon I had to escape, or suffer the fate I had imparted on so many others. As you know, I landed here, helping to build the Opera House, adding in the secret rooms and passages that secluded me from the world, and aided in my many crimes. Extortion, torture, murder. . .I excelled at all of them, escaping here to the hell of my own making to evade the gallows up above. When I lay here, pleading Death to take me and end my torment, he told me that Heaven had barred its gates against my crimes, and that hell had fear that I would find its own secret passageways, and prove that it was possible to escape. Besides," his face took on a self loathing smirk, "The devil had no use for another son."

Erik answered her incredulous look. "This face, you see," he waved his hand toward himself, "had been declared the mark of the Devil-I was known as the devil's own son. That was always the justification for the derision, for the loathing that was bestowed upon me since birth. I was the spawn of God's greatest enemy. It would be nigh to a sin to show me any small measure of kindness." He paused momentarily, a rueful smile appearing on his face. "I suppose it could be true. Before the Black Angel left me in agony, telling me that I should try to snare death for myself, as I had ensnared so many others, he took down his hood and showed me his face. It looked just like my own, only on him, both sides matched. Even death, you see, had the symmetry that had evaded me." he finally lowered his eyes.

Rosalie's eyes filled with such sorrow, "Oh, Erik. . ." she whispered.

Looking away from her, he continued in a small voice, "After he took his leave, I languished for what seemed like centuries. I was too weak to move, to weak to do anything other than wish for the death that would not come. As the worst of my wounds healed, I felt hunger, but refused to eat. My lungs screamed for air, but I refused to breath. I refused to do anything that might reanimate this broken carcass. My body might have been alive, yet I refused to live. My soul was dead. Finally, it seemed, I had become the actual embodiment of a living corpse. So I knew there was only one thing to do.

"I dragged myself to my bed-which I had long ago fashioned to look like a coffin- and I just lay there, praying alternately that Death would change its mind and claim me after all, or that Christine would change her heart, and come be my salvation. But I should have known that God would not answer prayers for the Devil's own castoff.

"Neither happened, and eventually, I just became unaware of anything except the numbing pain in my chest where my heart used to be. That is how I must have spent this past 120 years-until you entered my home that night, and I heard you sing." On a heavy sigh, Erik finished his tale, afraid to look at her as he added, "And my heart began to beat again." His story told, Erik was spent, his body and soul utterly drained. His head dropped to his chest, and he was silent. After a moment he detected a shift of movement in the room. He knew Rosalie had risen. So she would leave him now, he thought, after hearing his horrific story, and he would be alone once more. Then he felt the gentle pressure of her palms upon his shoulders. He turned to her to see tears glistening in her beautiful eyes. "Erik," she whispered, choking back tears, "I'm so sorry." She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him in a comforting embrace, releasing a little sob of sympathy for his cruel fate.

It took Erik a moment to realize what was happening. No woman had ever willingly embraced him. Not his mother, not Christine. And yet Rosalie held him in her arms and cried for his pain. After another unbelieving moment, slowly, so very slowly, Erik closed his arms around her back and returned her embrace.

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Oh it was a bitter pill to hear your own life story told to you from the perspective of another. Illuminating too. For a man who had spent his life hiding in the shadows, the world knew all about his history. Rosalie had said it was because of a book written by a man named Gaston Leroux, but he knew it had to be Nadir who first told the tale. That Persian was the only one privy to all the sordid details of Erik's life, and he never could hold his tongue.

He had tried to be nonchalant, but the pain had come rushing back. All the years he had been met with hatred and ridicule. His mother who refused to kiss him, who would beat him if he would ever enter her presence without the mask. The gypsies who exploited his hideousness and forced him to show himself to people for money. Oh how he'd hated their stares, the shame he'd felt in his heart. And then the Shah of Persia who had forced him to commit unforgivable acts. Oh why had he not just chosen right then to disobey and die for his insubordination? Because his whole bitter life paled in comparison to the devastation he'd felt when his Christine had denied him. It was as if she had torn out his very heart-his very soul. And yes, he had gone mad-absolutely mad. But he could not blame Christine for her rejection. She was a creature of beauty, a creature of the light. And he. . . he belonged hidden in darkness. She only did what was natural.

And yet, Rosalie was also a creature of light, and here he was, wrapped in her arms, his unmasked cheek moistened by her tears-tears she shed for him and his sufferings.

Erik drew back-not out of her arms, but just far enough away that he could see her eyes. "How is it," he whispered with sincere amazement, "That you can hear about my heinous deeds without running away?"

Rosalie shook her head, her eyes never breaking contact with his, "I have long known your story, and it has always touched me. I had always felt compassion for your loneliness, and I'd always wondered what you might have become if you had just known love in your life. But now," she took one hand from around his back to cup his cheek again,"Even through your mask, I can see your soul. And I think it's beautiful."

The quickening in his chest grew into an electric shock. No one had ever referred to him in any way as beautiful. Even Christine, to whom he had shown the greatest portion of his soul, had turned from him. Because she'd seen his face. Could Rosalie possibly look upon his face-his actual face-and react any differently?

"I am not beautiful, Mademoiselle," he said darkly, pulling fully out of her embrace. "You know me from stories, and yet you have not seen that which you say is beautiful."

Rosalie looked at him bravely, "I want to know you Erik. I want to see you."

He snorted in derision, "You think, you could look at this face and not run? You think you could ever have a different reaction than Christine? Than anyone who has been forced to see this hideousness unmasked?" His gaze pierced her own. "There _is_ no other reaction to have to this horror with which I have been cursed, Mademoiselle!"

Rosalie resolutely looked into his eyes and said "Try me."

"So that you can leave me too?" Erik questioned in a panicked tone, breaking her gaze. "Rosalie," he added more softly, looking at the floor. "It has been so long since I have had human companionship. I would really rather enjoy it a while longer before driving you away."

Rosalie reached out and took his hand in hers, which drew his eyes back to her gaze. "I won't leave, Erik. I promise."

Erik scrutinized her silently a moment longer, as if trying to memorize her face. She watched many different emotions pass through his eyes. Trepidation, loss, sadness, and finally regret. Without a word, without breaking her gaze, he slowly removed his mask.

Erik was braced for her reaction to his hideous face. His lips were misshapen on the right side of his face-the top one puffy and bloated while the bottom one was so thin it was hardly a lip at all. The skin on his cheek was parchment thin in some places and twisted into knots and natural scars in others. His left nostril was so large, it was as if there was merely a black hole on that side of his nose. He had to marvel at Rosalie's bravery. She never flinched, never once averted her gaze. She showed shock and disbelief, but no disgust, no fear.

He held her gaze until she gently closed her eyes and leaned forward to brush her lips softly against his. It was a chaste kiss, seeking nothing, but giving all. It lingered only long enough to prove to him that she was still with him and that she wanted to be there. He was no longer alone.

**Nope Erik! Definitely no longer alone. So what'd you think? **


	9. Chapter 9 A Yes for Erik

**So, yes, Erik has received his first true kiss-a kiss where the woman really _wanted_ to kiss him. How will he react? Keep reading. :)**

9. A Yes for Erik

Rosalie pulled away from the kiss with a heady feeling. She met Erik's gaze. His eyes were full of disbelief and wonder. Ohhhhhh wow. What had she just done? "I," she stammered, "I'm sorry. I just. . .Oh," She groaned, mortified by the fact that she had just kissed a man who was barely more than a stranger. And, oh yeah, he was over 100 years old-even though he didn't look a day over 35. She buried her face in her hands in embarrassment.

Erik reached out gently and lifted her chin so he could look at her. "Rosalie," he whispered breathily, his tone full of reverence, "in more than 100 years, no woman has ever kissed me of her own free will. I. . . don't know _what_ to say," he shook his head, smiling at her a little, "But I know _you_ do not need to say you're sorry."

Rosalie chuckled a little, still mildly embarrassed. "Erik, I just. . ." she finally looked up to meet his gaze, "Please know that I do not see a monster in front of me. I think you are a man who has known monsters, but I don't think you are one."

All at once, Erik sighed, "Rosalie," and he crushed her to him, one hand on her back, the other tangled in her hair. She could feel the moisture of his tears against her cheek. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you." When he finally loosened his hold, he said breathily, "You must be exhausted. You should sleep."

At the mention of sleep, Rosalie yawned. "I hadn't realized it, but, I guess I am pretty tired." She started to look toward the steps that would lead her back up into Box 5. So many steps.

Erik saw her gazing at the stairs. There were so many. He felt a sudden throb in his chest at the thought of her leaving. She would be so far away. "Will you stay here?" Erik blurted before he could stop himself. When he saw her eyebrows raise in surprise, he realized he had spoken his wish out loud. "I'm sorry, Rosalie," he stammered, immediately trying to backpedal. "I do not mean to be forward. . .It's just, that it has been a long night, and there are a lot of stairs. . .I would not take any liberties, mind you. . ." he trailed off, looking away from her, running his hand through his hair in frustration. Oh, what a fool he was when it came to women! "You are free to go whenever you wish, Mademoiselle," he said in quiet defeat, still not able to look at her. Why ever had he thought she'd want to stay?

Rosalie smiled at him. She understood just how hard it had been for him to invite her to stay in his home. His cheeks were burning, and he looked so utterly mortified. He was so sure that she would say no.

She knew she _should_ say no. They had only just met, and this was already an incredibly complicated situation. Would remaining under his roof make it more-so? But as she looked at him, so flustered, so distressed, she truly did not want to go. Erik's fragile heart needed a yes. And truth be told, so did she. "OK, Erik, if it's not an imposition. . ."

Erik blinked in amazement at the sound of her words. "Oh, not at all, Belle Rose," he quickly assured her, his eyes shining at the thought of her staying in his home for the night.

Rosalie felt a flush creep across her cheeks again. "Goodnight, Erik," she said, as she turned to go the room with the swan shaped bed.

Erik smiled once again, reaching out his knuckles to brush the side of her cheek, "Goodnight, my beautiful Rose."

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Rosalie awoke to soft sweet strains of music being played on a piano. She was slightly disoriented at first, but then remembered the previous night with Erik and smiled. She rose from the bed, self consciously smoothing her hair, which she could tell, even without a mirror, was an absolute fright. She quietly crept toward the sound of the music. When she opened her door to the room with the lake, she saw Erik seated on the piano bench, his fingers dancing on the keys. She stood back and just watched him, listening as he made the piano come alive. She could not help but catch her breath, though, when he began to sing.

Erik simply had the most beautiful tenor voice she had ever heard-another way in which the man lived up to the legend. She had always loved listening to the Phantoms on Broadway sing the part. Michael Crawford had always been her favorite. It seemed that he had the exact ethereal quality to his voice that an "Opera Ghost" would have. But listening to Erik. . .his voice had even more warmth, even more passion, even more celestial yearning. If she had not heard his voice herself, she would not believe such a rapturous sound were possible.

"Bravi, bravi, bravissimi" she spoke with a twinkle in her eyes, at the conclusion of his song. As she walked toward him, she gave a little clap.

"I see my words have come back to haunt me," he chuckled a little, his eyes sparkling, as he turned to take her hands in his. "Good morning, Rosalie," he greeted her with a silvery tone. He was once again wearing his mask, but she could tell that beneath it, his features were spread into a warm grin.

"It really was beautiful, Erik," she smiled

"Thank you, Belle Rose," he said warmly.

Oh, Rosalie could get used to him calling her that. She smiled at him quietly a moment longer before telling him, "I have to go. The Opera House beckons. And I'm going to have to run home quickly to change."

Erik sighed with mild disappointment. "Very well, I shall let you go." He gently released her hands. "But truly, you are just an office worker in the Opera?"

"Yes Erik. That is what I signed on for." she asserted, as they began to walk to the steps.

"100 years, and I see my theater is still being run by fools who cannot recognize talent." Erik huffed.

"Oh, stop!" she said, in gentle admonition. "With the upcoming gala performance of Phantom, they need all the help in the office that they can get."

Erik stopped their progress toward the stairs. "Performance of Phantom?" he asked her, with a raised eyebrow.

Rosalie could not believe she'd left out this little detail. "With all that we discussed last night, I guess I forgot to mention that your story has not only been told in novels but in an amazing, award winning musical. It has been performed around the world for the past 30 years, and for its big anniversary next month, they are producing a performance here for the first time. It's a big thing, since Palais Garnier is the setting of the musical. And now," she turned once more toward the stairs, "I must go. There is so much to do to get ready, and I now have even more reasons to want the production to be perfect." She smiled at him warmly.

"Alright," Erik conceded, "But you must tell me more about this musical tonight." He then stopped realizing what he had just said. "I mean, Rosalie," he asked sheepishly, "will you return tonight? For dinner?"

Rosalie smiled, "I would love to."

Erik smiled warmly, and reached out once again for her hand "Au revoir, Rosalie."

"Au revoir, Erik," Rosalie returned, squeezing his hand before starting her ascent back into the opera.

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When she finally made it to her desk-just barely on time-there was a spring in Rosalie's step that had been missing for awhile. As she exchanged pleasantries with some of her other office mates, she radiated a happy glow, her smile originating from somewhere deep within her soul. The situation with Erik was so completely unbelievable, and yet, for some strange reason, absolutely everything about it felt right to her.

As Rosalie got started on the paperwork that had accumulated on her desk, she did not notice Lucas staring at her. He could not help but notice the flush in Rosalie's cheeks and the easiness of her smile, and it bothered him to remember how harshly he had treated her only a few weeks ago. They'd barely spoken since then, and while he had not wanted to admit it, especially while enjoying the company of some of the other opera house interns who were only too happy to spend time with him, he'd really missed having her in his life. At lunch time, when he saw her sitting outside, enjoying a sandwich in the crisp fall air, he decided he had to go talk to her.

"Hello, Rose," he said with a smile. "Is this seat taken?" he asked, gesturing to the bench she was sitting on.

Rosalie was still feeling so happy about her night with Erik, that she smiled widely, inviting Lucas to join her. "Lucas! How've you been?"

"I've been good Rose. How 'bout yourself?"

"Oh, I've been great." Rosalie gushed, then realized she should probably backpedal a little. "It's been invigorating working for the gala."

Lucas looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "Really? Pushing papers has been invigorating?"

"Well, knowing that at the end of it, the greatest musical in the world will be performed here, in its rightful place, partly as a fruit of my efforts, yes, that has been invigorating."

Lucas chuckled a little, "It's really always about the Phantom with you, isn't it?"

Rosalie felt her heart literally skip a beat. "Yes, Lucas," she responded, thinking about Erik and smiling. She found, suddenly, that she could absolutely not wait to see him later that night. "It always _has_ been about the Phantom for me. You know that."

"I bet it'll be a real thrill for you to see it performed here."

"Absolutely."

Lucas got a mischievous glint in his eye, "Maybe we can sneak into Box 5 and see it performed from there."

Rosalie thought to herself that she might want to see it performed with someone other than Lucas, but didn't say that. Instead, she said, "I think they're planning on actually using Box 5 as part of the production. Make it more realistic."

He looked at her with surprise. "How did you know that?"

"I'm working on the stage directions."

"Oh, of course."

Rosalie just smiled, taking another bite of her sandwich.

"So, Rose, I've missed you." Lucas said, ready to cut the small talk.

"It's been so busy, there's not been a lot of time to socialize." she said, beginning to regret inviting him to sit with her.

"I know," He agreed. "That's why I was hoping we could get together tonight?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lucas," Rosalie politely declined, "But I already have plans for tonight."

Lucas seemed a little surprised, but tried to recover smoothly, "Oh, ok, maybe tomorrow night?"

Rosalie didn't want to presume that she would once again have plans with Erik, but she certainly hoped so. "I don't think that's going to work either, Lucas," she said hoping he didn't push her any farther.

"Oh, um, ok." Lucas was annoyed, but didn't want to seem pushy. He supposed she was playing hard to get, still angry about their last interaction. That's ok, he thought to himself. He could bide his time. He had plenty of pretty ladies to keep him busy in the meantime. "Well, it was good seeing you," he said, standing up to walk back inside.

"See you inside!" she said, glad to be alone once more. She glanced at her watch. It was about 1:00. Only about 4 more hours until she could leave and get ready for her evening with Erik. Waiting was torture.

**Oh, Lucas, go away! Ha ha. **

**So please tell me what you think! I love all your reviews. **

**Did you like Erik's response to the kiss?**

**Did you like Rose's response to Erik's singing? **

**What about his asking her back to dinner?**

**How do you think he's going to feel about the musical? **

**Inquiring writers want to know! :)**


	10. Chapter 10 The Unexpected Song

**Well, Rosalie's coming for dinner, and the Phantom's cupboard is bare! He hasn't been to the market in over 100 years! (Men!) He's got a little work to do while Rose is at work. Special thanks to the brilliant FantomPhan33 for sparking the idea of Erik's shopping trip!**

10. The Unexpected Song

Erik hummed to himself, waiting for Rosalie's arrival. The day stretched on before him, and yet he found he could hardly contain himself until her return. It was not natural for him to seek out another person's company. Since childhood, Erik had spent most of his time alone-with only the occasional pet as a companion. He remembered his beloved Sasha, the dog who would lick the tears from his cheek after his mother would scold him or beat him for daring to show his face. She lost her life because others wanted to show him cruelty. And then there was Ayesha, the Siamese stray who kept him company in his last mortal days. He hoped Nadir had taken her in after the mob had destroyed him. He hated to think of what might have happened to a poor cat on the streets of Paris. That was one of the reasons Erik had taken her in to begin with. She had been unwanted-like him.

But Rosalie was different. She sought him out, had already returned to see him once, and had promised to return again. Miraculously, he had found himself comfortable enough to share with her the details of his life that she had not known from the book. (Which had been all too intimately true, thank you, Nadir!) He had willingly shown her his face, having believed it better for her to see it now, rather than to build up some idealistic notions in both of them that would one day have to be shattered. But she had not jeered at him, or run from the room. She had kissed him.

"She called me beautiful," he whispered to himself in remembrance, as he touched the spot on his own misshapen mouth where her lips had brushed his.

She was a miracle. A healing salve sent from Heaven.

But when she returned, she would be hungry. Erik had to find a way to offer her something to eat. Food did not really matter to him. He had gone for so long without taking any sustenance into his body. After all, it wasn't as if he was going to be afforded the luxury of starving to death. But sharing a meal with Rosalie would be about more than nurturing his body. And in truth, since she had agreed to return that evening, he had, for the first time in a century, been feeling faint pangs of hunger.

Erik ascended the Box 5 staircase, since his boat was still in a state of disrepair. When he entered the box, he fluidly glided to the opposite wall, where there just happened to be a second switch. He smiled to himself guessing Rosalie had not yet found this one. He pressed it, and the wall gave way to another secret passage-this time a tunnel which would take him around the main floors of the opera house. He was certain he could find something for Rosalie to eat in the opera kitchens. After all, his salary had not been paid in over a century. He could not exactly be expected to buy his own meals. He chuckled to himself at that thought. Perhaps he should make another visit to his manager's office to see if he could catch a glimpse of the fool who was employing a star quality soprano as an office girl, in an opera house which only seemed to produce ballets. He shook his head a moment, trying to wrap his mind around that dizzying summation of his Opera House's fate, before turning to the right for his little side excursion.

A man with dark curly hair and a swarthy complexion was sitting at the desk in the manager's office, looking over papers and jotting something down on a yellow note pad. His face seemed to have a kind appearance, not arrogant like the last pair of managers he had known. There was a thoughtful expression on his face, and Erik could not help but notice that he looked vaguely familiar. There was something about him that Erik could not immediately place. He watched the manager a moment longer before continuing on toward his destination.

The kitchen was fairly empty, Erik observed from his space behind the wall, except for a couple of attendants who seemed to be prepping for the lunch rush. Unfortunately, they stood between him and his goal. Erik remembered how he used to spook the cooks into leaving their posts, as he searched around with his long fingers for the thin spot on the wall. Ahhh, there it was, he smiled, locating the threadbare section he had been looking for. He could hardly believe his luck that the cookware was still hung in the same configuration as of old. Erik strategically tapped the wall, gently at first, but then with increasing vigor. It took only a moment before the two kitchen ladies noticed that the pots and pans were dancing. The resulting sound began as a quiet rumble but quickly grew into a grand crescendo until saucepans and skillets began to tumble, one by one from their hooks. The lunch ladies swore that as they fled the kitchen, they could hear a building laughter rise above the cacophony, as if it were coming from the very walls.

Once he had dispatched the kitchen help, Erik knew he had to be quick. He dashed to the cold storage in search of meats and cheeses. In the pantry he found some potatoes, seasonings, and various other food items which were completely unfamiliar to him. He made a mental note to ask Rosalie what on earth Ramen noodles were, or SPAM. Armed with the supplies he needed, he made a quick escape, certain that the kitchen staff would quickly be back to assess the women's claims.

Back in his lair, preparing the meal, he began to feel a bit nervous. Rosalie had looked upon his face and never flinched, but that did not mean she would find it appetizing to eat with him. Was this a bad idea? Perhaps he should just not eat? He could always attempt to dine with her, he thought. If the grotesque sight of his face trying to digest a meal was offensive to her in any way, he could always replace his mask.

Eventually, Erik heard her soft footfalls echo on the stone steps by the lake. He rose to greet her. "Good evening, Rosalie," he said gently, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. He adored the little tint of pink that rushed to her cheeks when he smiled at her. He could make her blush! Exhilarating!

Rosalie looked at him, a little flustered. He was so suave and charming. His eyes were shining so brightly as he gazed at her, she suddenly felt like a fool, not really knowing what to say, until she smelled a delicious aroma coming from the direction of his small table. "Erik, you cooked?" she asked him in surprise.

Erik raised an eyebrow at her question. "Rosalie, I invited you to dinner, did I not? I have always had to care for myself. Is it so hard to imagine that culinary skills would be among my repertoire?"

"No," Rosalie quickly responded. "But I cannot imagine you wandering around a grocery store in the middle of the day."

Erik repressed a chuckle, "Well, you are right, Belle Rose, that I did not exactly do my shopping at the market."

Rosalie opened her mouth to seek clarification on where exactly he _had_ done his shopping, but then she looked closely at Erik, her eyes narrowing. She had heard talk earlier about a commotion in the kitchens-something about the cookware coming alive and ridiculing the food prep ladies before jumping off the walls of their own volition. Frankly, Rosalie had thought the two older women were showing signs of early dementia, but now she was beginning to wonder. . .. Realizing she did not want to know, she quickly shut her mouth, closed her eyes and shook her head, instead asking Erik, "Shall we eat? Your dinner smells too good to waste."

Erik looked at her then, a little nervously, "Rosalie, I've been thinking, and if it is unappealing to you to dine with me, I can always eat later, alone in my room. It would be no hardship. It is how I have eaten my entire life."

Rosalie looked confused. "Why wouldn't I want to eat with you? After you've gone through all this trouble to prepare a meal?"

"My face." he said, regretfully. "I would have to remove my mask." When Rosalie began to interrupt, he raised a hand to indicate he wanted her to hear him out, "I know you have already seen my face, but eating while I am unmasked is quite the different story, and I would not want to force that experience upon you. So really. . ."

Rosalie placed a finger on his lips to stop his rambling. She looked him directly in his eyes and said, "Well then, Erik, allow me." In a very determined manner, her eyes never faltering from his, she reached up and removed the mask. A simple gesture, which held a world of meaning to him. "Now," she said again with a smile, "Let's eat."

Erik sighed heavily, and shook his head in wonder, a little shaken by her gesture. The last woman to have unmasked him had been Christine. He remembered well the look of abject horror on her face, and how she had scrambled from him, begging him to stay away. How was it that Rosalie could unmask him now, and ask of him nothing more than to dine with her in his parlor? "You are a miracle, Rosalie." he said to her with great respect and admiration.

"No, Erik," she responded, her eyes wide with humor, "I'm just hungry."

They both chuckled, as they walked to the table that Erik had set for two with fine china and crystal goblets. A bottle of wine sat chilling in an ice bucket. In the center of the table was a single white rose, tied with a black ribbon. After making a great show of pulling out Rosalie's chair, he reached for the rose and handed it to her. "A flower for you, Belle Rose."

Rosalie accepted it with a smile. "Erik," she asked, her voice full of wonder. "Where did you find this?"

"There are still a few bushes in the gardens that could spare a bloom or two. I took the liberty of cutting the best one for you." He paused, suddenly shy, before saying, "It still pales in comparison to your beauty."

Rosalie gazed back at him, her heart beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it, but she found that _he_ could not meet _her_ gaze. Was there a flush in his cheek? "Thank you, Erik," she whispered, sure that her heart was about to burst.

"You are welcome." he said, breathily, still looking down. Erik remained quiet a moment longer before lifting the lid from the dish before her. "Your dinner, My Lady."

Rosalie looked with surprise at the plate before her. Steak au Poivre, cooked to perfection, matched with herb roasted red potatoes and sauteed asparagus. "Oh my, Erik," Rosalie commented. "How elegant!

"All for you, Belle Rose," he said, this time with a sense of pride, as he took his seat across from her.

They ate quietly for a few moments, savoring the feast before them, until Erik broke the comfortable silence with a question that had lingered in his mind all day. "So tell me more, Rosalie, about this Phantom musical you said they were producing upstairs." He was intrigued that such a thing should exist. Why on earth would anyone want to sing about a masked madman living beneath an opera house?

"Well, like I told you earlier," she began, excitedly, since the musical was her absolute favorite thing in the world to talk about. "It tells your story in song. The music in it is absolutely gorgeous-some of my all time favorite to sing. It just stirs something inside me when I hear it. In fact," she said, reaching into her pocket, "I can play some of it for you." She showed him her iPhone.

Erik looked at her phone with interest. "That . . . _thing_ plays music?" He pointed out toward it, asking, "There are no keys, no strings. . ."

Rosalie laughed. "There's a lot you still have to learn about the twenty first century, Erik. Technological advances have skyrocketed since your day." She placed the phone in the center of the table and cued up the soundtrack. "All you have to do with this is tap the play button."

Erik listened to the story about the chandelier, and had to admit, he was stirred by the powerful organ music played in the overture. He cringed when he heard the character of Carlotta sing-although the soprano on the recording was a breath of fresh air compared to the real diva. His throat ran dry when he heard the name Christine Da'ae. Oh God, was this really such a good idea? At that exact moment, he felt Rosalie's hand reach out and squeeze his, and he felt his pulse calm. When he heard the coloratura begin to sing "Think of Me," he glanced at Rosalie and smiled, recognizing it as the song she had sung the other day on the stage.

"You sang that far more beautifully," he told her. She just rolled her eyes, blushing.

Erik went back to listening to the music with intensity. When he heard the opening strains of Angel of Music, he suddenly stood, almost toppling his carefully set table, staring with shock at her little phone.

"Erik, what is it?" Rosalie asked, concerned, "What's wrong?"

"That music. It is my own," he declared, still staring at the phone in confusion.

"What do you mean, it's your own?"

"I wrote it, Rosalie." He met her eyes. "That melody is mine. And the words too."

"Are you serious?" Rosalie asked in excitement. "You really did write those songs?"

"This one, yes. Listen, " Rosalie paused her phone as Erik raced over to the piano. He began to play the theme from Angel of Music flawlessly, humming the vocal line as he went. He was definitely a master of the song. "May I hear more, Rosalie?" Erik asked, and Rosalie walked over to him, turning her phone on again. Erik listened in awe, as more and more of his melodies burst forth from Rosalie's strange little device. He was hearing someone else play his music for the first time since that fateful night so many years ago. It was quite a thing, having his music on display like this-an experience he never thought he'd know-an experience he'd never sought, except for when he'd wanted Christine to sing the role of Aminta. And now-Rosalie had said this musical had been running for 30 years? His music had been known for that long? He wasn't quite sure what he thought of that.

"How can this be, Erik?" Rosalie asked him. "This musical was supposedly written in the 1980s."

"I have no idea. I never shared my music. All my scores were hidden away down here. When the mobs came, some were scattered about but I. . ." Realization dawned on Erik suddenly. "Nadir!" he fumed, banging his hand against the piano keys as her iPhone continued to play. "Nadir must have stolen some of my compositions. I am certain of it. Oh, that wicked Persian!"

Rosalie stifled a laugh, with her hand, because she could not help but think Erik was adorable when angry. To him she said, "Well, I for one, am glad your work was found-even if it was stolen. I fell in love with this music time and again while I was growing up. It always seemed to speak directly to my soul. All these years, I never knew it really _was_ you I was falling in love with." As the words left her lips, she was horrified to realize she'd said them out loud.

Erik's heart absolutely stopped at Rosalie's words. Had he heard her correctly? Had she meant it the way it sounded? "I mean," he heard her say "Your music. I was falling in love with your music."

"Of course." Erik said, quickly, giving her the escape she needed.

"I'm. . .gonna. . .go clear the table." Rosalie said, rushing to the table, needing a moment away to compose herself.

Erik felt his heart swell with song as he watched her go.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rosalie scrubbed the dinner dishes. Then she scrubbed them again. She could not believe the words that had stumbled out of her mouth. She was so mortified! She had only just met Erik. How could she be spouting off about falling in love with him? This was so unlike her. She'd always been so careful in relationships to never move too fast. Her string of frustrated ex-boyfriends was testament to that.

She stopped scrubbing for a moment and leaned against the sink. In truth she felt powerless to resist Erik. Something about his music-something about his eyes. They reached in and touched her very soul. She was grateful that he had not pushed her for anything more than what she willingly gave, because she honestly did not think she would have the strength to tell him no.

Rosalie heard the piano begin to play as she was drying off the dishes with a little kitchen towel she had found. The melody was so sweet and so tender, that despite her embarrassing slip from before, Rosalie could not keep the smile off her face. She truly could not help but fall in love with Erik's music.

She emerged from the small kitchen and saw Erik seated at the black piano next to his mighty organ. She noticed that there were sheets of handwritten notes on the music rack. More blank sheets and a few pencils lay next to him on the piano bench. "You've been writing?" she asked excitedly.

Erik's grin seemed to turn sheepish. "I have. After dinner, I found my heart was filled with song. When you so graciously offered to clean up, I decided to spend a little while with my music."

Rosalie found herself smiling again. She loved the way Erik spoke of music as if it was his dear friend. "That's wonderful." She walked over to the piano and snuck a quick glance at the sheets lying there. "It sounded lovely from the kitchen. Does it have any words?"

"It . . .does." Erik responded, again looking a little sheepish.

"Well, can I hear them? I would love to hear you sing."

Erik hesitated momentarily, before nodding slowly. "You _were_ the inspiration," he revealed softly.

Rosalie looked at him with soft eyes as he began to play. Erik's words thrilled her. To be the inspiration for such beauty was beyond anything she had ever dreamed. After a few sweet measures, Erik began to sing.

_**I have never felt like this**_

_**For once I'm lost for words**_

_**Your smile has really thrown me**_

_**This is not like me at all**_

_**I never thought I'd know**_

_**The kind of love you've shown me**_

_**Now, no matter where I am**_

_**No matter what I do**_

_**I see your face appearing**_

_**Like an unexpected song**_

_**An unexpected song**_

_**That only we are hearing**_

_**I don't know what is going on**_

_**Can't work it out at all**_

_**Whatever made you choose me?**_

_**I just can't believe my eyes**_

_**You look at me as though**_

_**You couldn't bear to lose me**_

_**Now, no matter where I am**_

_**No matter what I do**_

_**I see your face appearing**_

_**Like an unexpected song**_

_**An unexpected song**_

_**That only we are hearing**_

The significance to the words he was singing was not lost on her. This whole situation between them was completely unexpected, and it made absolutely no sense. She barely knew him, and yet it felt like she'd known him her whole life. She felt herself running full steam ahead into a relationship with a one hundred and fifty plus year old legendary villain. But now, none of it seemed to matter. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was the song he was singing, and the feelings she was beginning to have for its composer. She didn't care any longer that none of this was making sense. She had spent her whole life making sense, doing the "right thing," and where had it gotten her? Alone.

Erik belted out the key change with as much fervor as he possessed before ending on a final sweet high pianissimo.

**_Like an unexpected song_**

**_An unexpected song_**

**_That only we are hearing._**

He looked at her when the ending piano flourish was complete. Cheeks flushed and eyes dreamy from his song, she was perfect. Without a thought, he rose from the piano bench, reaching out for her chin and pulling her face toward his. He leaned forward and joined his lips to hers in a kiss that was gentle, yet full of promise. . .full of hope. He truly could not contain the joy in his heart when her lips kissed him back.

They lingered in their kiss a moment longer, relishing the sweetness within each other's embrace. It barely even occurred to Erik how monumental this moment was. He hadn't hesitated or over analyzed a thing before reaching for Rosalie. It just felt so natural to touch her-even to kiss her. When finally they parted it was with joy on their faces, and hope in their eyes. They stood there a moment, their foreheads touching, Erik bestowing a final, quick graze of his mouth to her perfect lips. He had never felt this kind of elation.

He recalled that Rosalie had spoken about falling in love. He had been in love before. He had loved Christine with every ounce of his being-but with that love, there had always been uncertainty, desperate longing, torturous pain. With Rosalie it was just the opposite. He felt comfortable in his own skin, where Christine made him feel inferior. With Rosalie, he could smile, where Christine had only brought him tears. With Christine, there had been a violent yearning, with Rosalie there was only excitement for what may come. He knew it was too soon to talk of love. He had only just met her. But he could not deny that there was a connection between them. Her voice had literally brought him back to life after a century of latency. She had heard his story, and reacted with acceptance, not judgement. Most of all she had looked upon his unmasked face and she did not run. No, instead she had kissed him, and tonight she had allowed him to kiss her. Whatever the feelings that _were_ there between them, they filled him with the invigorating certainty that he still had a heart, because with Rosalie he could most assuredly feel it beating.

**Awww. Their first date! And I think it went swimmingly well. **

**SO, what did you think of the Phantom's little adventure in the kitchens?**

**Of Rosalie unmasking him before dinner?**

**Of Erik's Rose for her?**

**Of his reaction to her iPod?**

**Of the revelation that Erik wrote much of the music in the musical?**

**Of Rose's little slip?**

**Of the song Erik wrote for her? (By the way, Unexpected Song is actually a song by Andrew Lloyd Webber. I have a recording of Michael Crawford singing it, and it is just sooooo sweet and tender, I had to use it for Erik and Rose.)**

** Basically, what did you think? LOL. P****lease review and let me know!  
**


	11. Chapter 11 Sing for Me!

**Well, their first date went swimmingly, except maybe for the kitchen ladies. :)**

**Here's today's installment. **

11. Sing for Me!

Rosalie lay in her bed, dreaming, but not asleep. She held Erik's rose in her hand, brushing it softly against her cheek, remembering the softness of his fingers as he pulled her closer for a kiss. She sighed deeply at the memory, wishing she was still in that magical world beneath the opera. She had gently insisted on going home a little while after their amazing dinner. She had been feeling so swept away by him that she'd felt a little distance might do her good. Though she was not concerned about Erik taking any "liberties" with her, she was quite concerned that _she_ might want him to.

Erik's kiss had been different from any kiss she had felt before. Firm on one side of her mouth, and softer on the other, where the puffiness of his deformity softened the pressure of his lips, the kiss, though gentle, had ignited a flame within her. She had felt the fire consuming any trepidations or sensibilities she thought she possessed, leaving her wanting nothing more than to melt with him into a glowing pool of desire. With the last shreds of judgement she still possessed, she'd gently broken their embrace. She'd held his hands in hers, and promised she'd return, before kissing him a final time and heading home. But she'd been sure to take the rose, because she wanted to carry a bit of him away with her.

Rosalie admired the white rose with the black ribbon. It was the perfect symbol of Erik-the white reminding her of his mask, the black of his choice of clothing, and its beauty of his soul. She smiled as she thought of how she could see Erik's beauty in the sparkle of his eyes when he smiled at her, or the passion in his voice when he sang. While Erik's face may have been deformed, it was not hard for her to see his inner beauty absolutely glowing through, and Rosalie could not now fathom how anyone could have thought him ugly. How could Christine ever have turned him away?

At the unbidden thought of Christine, Rosalie felt a knot in her stomach. She remembered how Erik's face had transformed when she'd unwittingly said Christine's name last night, or when he'd heard her name on the soundtrack this evening. He had spoken of her with a sense of awe and adoration, never once placing any measure of responsibility on her for the miserable fate that had befallen him. She had rejected him and yet he excused her. She had betrayed him and yet he justified her. She had given him nothing but heartache. Yet the roses Erik had given Christine were red.

She looked again at her rose from Erik, only now through tear filled eyes. Implausible as it was, she knew she was falling in love with him. But how could she ever hope he would love her back, when he was still in love with Christine? The Phantom was now in love with a ghost. How could she, a mere mortal, ever measure up to that?

Rosalie placed her precious gift in the little bud vase she had set on her bedside table. She rolled to her side and curled up tight, closing her eyes against the image of her Phantom holding a long stemmed red rose meant for a dark haired soprano who glistened as the stars and sang like an angel.

XXXXXXXXXXX

When Rosalie made it to her desk the next morning, she was surprised with another white rose tied with a black ribbon, lying atop a folded note. She felt her heart fluttering as she unfolded the thick paper and read,

_Until tonight, Belle Rose._

_Yours,_

_E_

She knew she was blushing as she felt that breathless excitement that Erik inspired fill her soul. How foolish she had been last night, as she lay in her bed worrying about Erik's feelings! Whatever the color of the roses, he was giving them to _her_. Rosalie sniffed the rose deeply, smiling as she drank in its sweet scent. Oh why did the work day have to be so long?

"What do you have there, Rosie?" She heard Lucas's voice bring her out of her reverie.

Rosalie opened her eyes to see him leaning on his desk, watching her, his expression difficult to read. "Oh, just a token. . ." she explained, "From. . . a friend." she smiled again as she thought of Erik.

"Seems more like an admirer than a friend to me," Lucas commented.

Rosalie looked at the rose which was in perfect bloom. "Perhaps. . ." she trailed off. "I need to go find some water for this," she said distractedly, running off to the washroom in search for a cup.

Lucas walked over to Rosalie's desk, opening the note and reading it over. His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Belle Rose?" he read out loud. "E?" Lucas hastily folded the note and placed it back on Rosalie's desk and returned to his own workstation. It was clear now that Rosie was seeing someone-but Lucas wondered who. Obviously some kind of romantic sot, based on the rose. Good luck, buddy, Lucas thought, snickering to himself. A few flowers aren't going to get you very far with Rosie.

Rosalie returned to her desk with Erik's gift, now setting in a cup of water. She placed it before her as she got to work on the day's endeavors. Lucas hadn't been the only one, however, to notice the gift that had been left on Rosalie's desk. She'd been working only a few minutes when she heard a kind voice call her name. "Mademoiselle Daniels?"

Rosalie looked up to see Mr. Bellamy standing before her. "Good morning, Sir."

"Mademoiselle, I'd like you to accompany me to the auditorium. Rehearsals are about to start, and since you've been working extra hard for this gala, I thought you might like to meet the cast."

Rosalie's eyes lit up. Once again, she was thrilled that Mr. Bellamy had noticed her efforts. She closed out of her computer and rose to walk with him to the auditorium.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"_Who is that shape in the shadows?_" the soprano sang, as she reached toward the mask of the distracted Phantom, "_Whose is the face in the mask_?"

Rosalie watched from her seat beside Mr. Bellamy, as the Phantom was unmasked, and his anger was unleashed. As the Phantom threw Christine to the floor, screaming curses at her and sobbing about how she'd betrayed him, Rosalie caught herself smiling at the cruel treatment the ingenue was receiving. "You deserve it!" she thought to herself before shaking her head at what she was thinking. She really needed to pull herself together.

As the director called for a 5 minute break after the physically demanding scene, Rosalie walked with Mr. Bellamy up to the stage to shake the hands of the director and the conductor. And then it was time to meet the cast. The man playing the Phantom, she recognized. He was one of her favorites from Broadway and he was very kind and gracious as he shook her hand. He would play a good Erik, Rosalie thought.

Much to Erik's relief, Rosalie was certain, the soprano playing Carlotta was absolutely lovely, with a sweet smile and a welcoming attitude. When Rosalie had heard her singing onstage, she got the distinct impression that the drama in her voice was completely exaggerated. She was certain this lady was an excellent singer, and she certainly hoped she would be able to hear her real singing voice one day.

Rosalie was having a lovely visit with the majority of the cast when the actress playing Christine re-entered the stage. Mr. Bellamy took Rosalie's arm and went to introduce her. Ms. Ava Gentry was fresh from playing Christine in London's West End production. Slender and petite, she wore her sable hair in an asymmetrical bob and a lot of dark makeup on her deep blue eyes. There was an air of aloofness about her, and Rosalie was a little nervous to make her acquaintance.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Gentry," Mr. Bellamy called in his rich baritone voice, "Allow me to introduce to you Mademoiselle Daniels, one of our interns here at the Palais Garnier."

Ava Gentry looked in Rosalie's direction, but seemed to look past her instead of at her. "Yes, charmed, I'm sure," she said, completely ignoring Rosalie's extended hand. Turning back to Mr. Bellamy, she said, "So, are you the one I should speak to about the draft in my dressing room? It seems that there is cold air blowing through all the time. Not good for the throat, you know. I am a bit appalled that a vocalist of my caliber should have to deal with that kind of shabby condition. Oh, and I'm going to need some more bottles of Perrier brought over. It's vital to stay hydrated, you know."

Rosalie glanced between Ava Gentry and Mr. Bellamy. Though he was listening intently to Ms. Gentry, and promising to attend to her needs, Rosalie couldn't help but wonder if he too was disgusted by the absolute snobbery of the woman. It was as if the producers had gotten their Carlotta and Christine reversed. But she had to admit that Ava Gentry could certainly sing. As acerbic as her personality seemed to be, her voice had been strong-solidly hitting the high E in the title song. She guessed a less than stellar personality was washed away by a golden voice in the world of show business.

While Gentry prattled on, Rosalie found herself looking around the auditorium out of boredom. She took a quick glance up to Box 5 and was delighted to see a familiar shadow shift in her direction. Rosalie felt a smile break across her face and it was all she could do not to call out to him and wave. But then the shadow turned and she could just make out the flick of his hand and the white of his mask as he blew her a kiss before slipping further into the darkness.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"She is all wrong for the part, Rose," Erik insisted, pouring Rosalie a cup of tea as she sat on his little couch after dinner. Rosalie had brought their meal with her that night-stuffed baguettes and pommes frittes-in the hopes of saving the kitchen staff from another disastrous afternoon. Their dinner conversation had centered largely on the cast for the gala production. Ever the music critic, Erik had opinions on everything-especially since this was his life story they were portraying, and his music they were performing. He agreed that the Phantom and Carlotta roles had been well cast. The girl playing Meg was adorable and the Raoul was sufficiently foolish looking. But he drew the line on Ava Gentry. She was horrible for the role, he'd ranted. She was stuck up, and rude, and even though she sang well, the timbre of her voice was all wrong for Christine.

"Well, Erik, with the gala coming so quickly, I think you're just going to have to get used to it." Rosalie countered, finding that she really did not wish to spend their time together talking about that annoying woman.

"Mademoiselle," he began formally. Rosalie noted that he used her title instead of her name, knowing that did not bode well for what he was about to say. "Have you forgotten that you are talking to The Phantom of the Opera?" He gestured toward himself with one hand, the other flourishing out to his side, as he gave a little bow.

"Erik. . ." she groaned, rubbing her forehead with her hand.

He began to pace the sitting room as he made his opinions known. "I do not just 'get used' to things. Especially things that affect my theater." Rosalie closed her eyes and shook her head as he continued to rant, "This musical is about me, as you know,"

"I'd heard." Rosalie deadpanned.

". . .And they are using my ill-gotten music to tell their tale. Don't you think I should have a say in who is singing it?"  
"No." Rosalie said dryly in response, bringing him up short, as he looked at her incredulously.

"Excuse me?" he asked, as if not sure he had heard her correctly.

"I think," Rosalie said, patting the seat next to her, "that you should come here and spend time with me, instead of ranting and raving about things that are out of your control. You've got to learn to let things go." She looked at him a moment, her eyes softening, as she added, "Thank you for the rose this morning. That was lovely."

Erik could feel the tension leaving his body as he came to sit down next to her. She was so beautiful, golden hair framing her face, her cheeks slightly flushed in irritation, her green eyes glowing. Suddenly he couldn't care less about what was going on above in the opera house-not when he had such a treasure sitting with him right here.

"Not as lovely as you, Belle Rose," he said gently, reaching out to stroke her cheek. He took her hands in his, "I am truly sorry, Rosalie, for wasting so much of our evening together on that undeserving 'vocalist'. You are right. I would much rather spend tonight concentrating on you."

Rosalie looked down and blushed. Of course now that she had his complete attention, his nearness rendered her speechless.

"It occurs to me," he began, when he could tell she didn't know what to say, "That you know my entire lamentable life story, but other than your beauty and your kindness, I know next to nothing about you. Tell me about yourself, Belle Rose."

"Well," Rosalie started slowly not exactly sure where to begin, since she hated talking about herself. "I guess I would say I'm pretty ordinary, really. . .I'm an only child. I grew up in a small town. I just graduated college back in America in May and I've been working here as an intern since late July. I love animals and American football. . ." Rosalie searched her brain for more to say, but at a loss for words, Rosalie summed it up, "The end!"

Erik smiled, somehow knowing that was barely scratching the surface of Rosalie's story. "How did you learn to sing?" he asked, noticing that she didn't mention anything musical in her summary.

"I. . .don't know?" she said, with a sheepish grin. "Singing was just something I always did. My mother always said I sang before I talked," she gave a little chuckle, which Erik joined. "Music has always been so much a part of me. It was just my nature. It didn't occur to me until I was much older that it was not the same way for everybody."

Erik listened to her, intrigued. His eyes were full of some emotion of which Rosalie was uncertain. "When you sing," he remarked, "You get lost, don't you." It was an observation, really, not a question.

She smiled a little, embarrassed. "In the music, yes. It's almost as if_ I'm_ no longer there-as if I'm no longer even myself. I just. . ." She trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Cease to exist?" Erik supplied

"Yes," Rosalie affirmed, "Because in those moments it feels as if there is only. . ."

"The song." Erik and Rosalie said simultaneously.

"You understand?" Rosalie asked him.

"I do." Erik affirmed. "It is the same for me. Music is what got me through my miserable existence. It allowed me to escape into a harmonious world where. . ."

"Nothing could find you, and nothing could hurt you." Rosalie finished his thought.

They gazed in each others' eyes, silently for a moment. Never before had Erik met someone who loved music the way he did-who felt it, and breathed it, and _lived _it the way he did. No wonder Rosalie's singing woke him from his unholy slumber. She'd been singing him her soul.

"Why are you an office girl, Rosalie, instead of a prima donna?" Erik asked softly, in genuine curiosity. "You must know you could easily grace the stage. Even THIS stage."

"I. . ." Rosalie struggled for a way to explain. "I used to sing on stage. When I was a child, or even in high school. I would sing on stage every chance I got-I even wanted to be a rock star when I grew up."

"Rock star?" Erik asked curious, his eyes narrowing. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"Oh, I'll explain that one later." Rosalie laughed. "But. . .singing was always something so. . .personal for me. As I got older, I had a harder time sharing it with others, because no one could understand the way I felt about it-the way it moved me to my very soul. So after high school, it was something I did less and less for others, until it became something I only did for me."

"How about for me?" Erik asked, breathily, desperate at that moment to hear her sing.

"What?" Rosalie questioned, not following him.

"Would you sing for me?" Erik's eyes were earnest as he made his plea. "You must know that I live and breathe music in exactly the same way as you've described. Would you sing for me? _With_ me, Rosalie?"

Rosalie's face broke into a smile. "I would love to sing with you, Erik."

"Come on," he said, bursting up from the couch and pulling her with him to the piano. "Shall we sing one of my compositions?"

Rosalie laughed, "Erik I don't know any of your compositions. Except for the one you played for me last night," Rosalie blushed a little at the memory, "You've never let them be played, remember?"

Erik thought a moment. "You _do_ know the ones in the musical. You told me yourself you used to love singing them." Without waiting for an answer, Erik shifted over to his organ and began to play the opening strains to "The Phantom of the Opera."

"Wait!" Rosalie called out, stopping him. "I can't hit that high E! That's insane!"

"Nonsense!" Erik countered, "I heard you hit a high Bb just the other day as clear as a bell. It sounded like you still had quite some range above it."

"Erik, an E is a lot higher than a Bb!"

"Only an augmented 4th," he commented as if he couldn't see the problem. "You'll be fine. Just breathe through it, brighten your eyes, and approach it from above."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "_Oh, approach it from above. _As if there _is _much above a high E!_" _she teased him. He sounded just like her high school glee club teacher. "OK, but please remember I warned you when I end up croaking like a frog!"

Erik huffed. "Oh come now! You're not Carlotta," and he once again began to play.

Rosalie sang the opening verse, which actually fell quite low in her range. Her heart thrilled when Erik made his strong entrance in the second verse, and she felt her apprehensions begin to vanish. As their voices entwined on the third and fourth verse duets, the world began to melt away and there was nothing left for Rosalie except for Erik. And as they reached the final, invigorating section, she looked straight into his glowing blue eyes as he commanded her "Sing, my Beautiful Rose. Sing for me."

And Rosalie did. She closed her eyes as she vocalized higher and higher into the ever more dizzying heights of the song. Rosalie did not think of breathing or of posture or of how to approach the ever ascending notes. In her mind, in her heart there was only music-there was only Erik. And because of him, her voice simply soared.

After the song's explosive climax, Rosalie gradually came back to earth. She opened her eyes to see Erik staring at her in amazement. "That was magnificent, Belle Rose," he rasped, a tone of astonishment in his voice. In that moment he knew that Rosalie would be the one to breathe life into his song, just as she had breathed life into his heart.

**Lots happened in this chapter. **

**Can you relate to Rosalie's overthinking the rose at the beginning?**

**How'd you feel about Lucas snooping?**

**Did you enjoy meeting the cast? At least most of them?**

**Did you enjoy Rosalie standing up to Erik and hsi Phantomly ways? (Do you think for a minute she changed his mind? )  
**

** Did you enjoy their talk about music? **

**Did you enjoy Erik becoming the demanding music teacher at the end, there? **

**(They really do talk like that-I should know-I am one in real life, haha.) **

**Let me know what you think, please! I love all your reviews!**


	12. Chapter 12 Notes

**So, Erik and Rosalie seem to be doing great. Let's see if Erik's return to some of his Phantomly ways puts a slight damper on things. **

12. Notes!

Erik may have realized that spending time with Rosalie was much more important and enjoyable than complaining to her about the conceited soprano who was the star of the gala, but that did not mean that he had "gotten used" to things. He went every day to observe rehearsals and took note of many items that needed immediate attention so that this magnificent gala in the works would not fall flat

For example, the sets looked particularly artificial and he could not imagine that the audience would be drawn into the story by candles that looked like they were made out of plastic, or a mirror that looked like some type of projection screen. The orchestra too, while reasonably in tune, was a somewhat sloppy in its timing. Erik could not help but think their precision would improve if they simply indulged in fewer breaks. It was not in Erik's nature to accept anything less than perfection, especially since so much of his own music was being used in the production. And so, it was not long before Mr. Bellamy received his first note.

The note, written in flowing script on thick parchment, was laying on his desk when the manager unlocked his door upon arriving that morning.

_Greetings Monsieur,_

_Allow me to re-introduce myself. I am the true Proprietor of the Palais Garnier. I have, for far too long, taken leave of the Opera House. But rest assured, I have returned, and with my guidance, the glory of the Palais Garnier, the very Opera Populaire shall also return. _

_It has come to my attention, that presently, the Palais Garnier is preparing for a gala production of "The Phantom of the Opera." I am pleased that this is so, and it is my fervent wish that this production be nothing short of a grand success. To that end, I must insist that there are certain matters to which you must attend. . . _

It was the first communication, but not the last, that Mr. Bellamy would receive about his opera house. Erik's notes would always go on to list his grievances, which seemed to grow every day. They would always be signed,

_"O.G."_

To his credit, Mr. Bellamy never seemed the slightest bit annoyed by them. On the contrary, he almost seemed to look forward to them, wondering what new criticism "O.G." would voice next. To Rosalie's amazement, Mr. Bellamy actually took Erik's commentary seriously. When Erik complained about the sets, Mr. Bellamy spoke with the designers, insisting that they stop cutting corners, and make sure everything reflected the perfection that the gala demanded. When Erik commented about the orchestra, Mr. Bellamy attended a rehearsal, and found that he indeed agreed that they could be better. He urged them to strive for perfection-giving the conductor carte blanche privilege to replace anyone who could not step up their game. Through it all, Mr. Bellamy maintained a smile on his face, and an optimism about this secret madman who seemed to think he could run the theater, even going so far as to nickname him the assistant manager.

It was quite the mystery around the office as to just where the notes were really coming from. Most thought that someone on staff was playing tricks on Mr. Bellamy; others thought it might be Mr. Bellamy himself who was raising the old ghost from the dead, using the notes as the catalyst to deal with the things that grieved him about the gala production.

Rosalie chided Erik when the notes started appearing in Mr. Bellamy's office, but Erik would just laugh and tell her he was looking out for his opera house. Then he would quickly present her with a white rose tied with a black ribbon, and move on to dazzle her with tales of his travels throughout Europe, viewing some of the world's most magnificent architecture-or he would teach her about ventriloquism, and demonstrate some of his old magic tricks. She particularly enjoyed hearing his stories of how he would "haunt" Carlotta once he'd developed the persona of the Phantom. He still chuckled at some of the things he'd done to the "cow," as he called her, and while he had enormous remorse for his greater crimes, he remained completely unrepentant for the aggravations he'd caused her. Every night, after work, Rosalie would hurry to see Erik, and each night they grew closer, as they talked, and laughed and sang together.

Rosalie absolutely cherished the times they sang together. Her voice entwined with Erik's was perhaps the most utterly intoxicating sensation she had ever experienced. She had never before known, with any other person, the kind of connection that music created between them. Afterward, they were often both left breathless and speechless, able to do nothing but gaze into each others eyes for a few long moments. Sometimes, after recovering, he would take her face in his hands and kiss her.

Rosalie closed her eyes each night dreaming of Erik's kiss. Oh, their first few kisses had been so tentative, so shy. Erik had been so hesitant to even touch her hand, a kiss seemed overwhelming. But now when he kissed her, it was a pleasure impossible to resist. Erik was always the gentleman, never seeking more than Rosalie was comfortable giving-allowing her to set the pace of their romance. But as Rosalie remembered the feeling of his lips sliding across hers, of his arms tightening around her as he pulled her closer, of his gentle sighs mingling with hers, she could, for the first time in her life, feel herself wanting more. She would imagine Erik lying beside her, kissing the rest of her body with the same devotion with which he kissed her lips, touching her, and enflaming a fire in her soul. Her passions were ignited by his amazing intellect, his dark humor, and his beautiful spirit.

No, Erik no longer wasted his time with Rosalie obsessing about the gala. She knew, however, that the casting of Ava Gentry in the role of Christine continued to vex him. Gentry was, in one word, a beast. Her general demeanor had not improved since the first day of rehearsals, and instead, her diva tendencies had gotten decidedly worse, throwing temper tantrums if something in rehearsal did not go her way, insulting the opera house staff for what she considered her shabby accommodations, and making endless, ridiculous demands. Still, Rosalie was not prepared for what happened the morning that Mr. Bellamy had left a message for her to come see him when she arrived.

"Monsieur? You wished to see me?" Rosalie said, peeking her head into Mr. Bellamy's office. She certainly hoped everything was ok with the gala, and that Ms. Gentry hadn't made another one of her ridiculous demands.

"I did, Mademoiselle," he affirmed in a kind, but curious tone. "Please," he gestured to the leather chair across from him, "Take a seat."

Rosalie smiled as she sat in the chair across from his desk.

"So," Mr. Bellamy began cordially,"You sing?"

Rosalie was not expecting that question. With narrowed eyes, she asked, "Why do you ask, sir?"

"Well, Mademoiselle, this morning, I received another note." He handed Rosalie a familiar looking piece of thick parchment folded over in half.

Rosalie looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then unfolded the note, feeling a knot begin to form in her stomach. Oh Erik, what did you do?

_Greetings Monsieur,_

_I would like to thank you once again, for complying with my wishes with such efficiency and alacrity. You have made many improvements to the quality of the gala, and I do believe that its success is near and dear to your heart, as you know it is to mine. Because of this, I must object to the actress, Ms Gentry, who is currently cast in the role of Miss Christine Da'ae. She is entirely wrong for the part. Her voice is shrill and too heavy for the role. Furthermore, the role of Miss Da'ae calls for refinement and grace, and judging by Miss Gentry's caustic demeanor, she possesses neither of these attributes. _

_While replacing a leading lady at such a late date would normally present many concerns, in keeping with the true spirit of the plot, I wish to present to you a budding talent who would be perfect for the role. Miss Rosalie Daniels. I believe you know of her as an intern- an office worker, such as yourself-but Miss Daniels' voice is truly of the heavens, and it would only be with her singing the starring role of Christine that I could truly bestow my blessings upon this production. I had personal knowledge of Miss Da'ae's voice, and truly, no other singer but Miss Daniels could compare. _

_I do not expect my wishes for my opera house to be ignored._

_Sincerely,_

_O.G._

Rosalie re-folded the note, and with shaking hands, placed it back on the desk before her. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. What was Erik doing? Had he truly gone insane?

"So, Mademoiselle," Mr. Bellamy asked again, his curious tone changing almost to amusement, "Is this true? Do you sing?"

Rosalie cleared her throat. "I do, a little, sir." She admitted with a shaky voice, not looking up. "It is just a hobby, Monsieur, not a profession."

"Well, " he continued, "You seem to have caught the attention of our assistant manager, who considers himself to have great influence around here."

Rosalie smiled tightly. "I am very sorry, Sir." She began, her throat dry, her voice cracking. "I. . .he. . ."

"Is it Lucas?" Mr Bellamy asked point blank.

Rosalie looked up at Mr. Bellamy in surprise. "No, sir. Why would you think that?"

"Well," he began, still kind, still congenial, "I know that you and Lucas have a relationship outside of work. . ."

"Had, sir." Rosalie corrected him, "We had a relationship outside of work, but it ended a few weeks ago."

"Oh, well, I am sorry to hear that Mademoiselle. But then, do you know the identity of your mysterious benefactor?"

Rosalie did not know what to say. Should she deny Erik? How could she explain him? She simply answered, "I do not. . .know. . .what to say, sir."

"Hmmmm." Mr. Bellamy looked at her again over folded hands. "I see."

Rosalie looked down again. "Shall I return to my desk, sir? There is much to do in preparation for the gala."

"Indeed, there is, Mademoiselle." he agreed. "That is why I wish to hear you sing for me."

Rosalie looked at him, as if he was suddenly speaking in a foreign language. "Pardon, Monsieur?"

"Please, may I hear you sing? Our dear fellow here said he would not wish to be ignored. I intend to give full attention to his request."

Rosalie continued to stare. She could not be hearing him right. Was he entertaining this insane notion that Erik had? How could he?

"Would you prefer to audition in the auditorium? There is still some time before rehearsals begin. . ." he offered when Rosalie still made no response.

"Mr. Bellamy," Rosalie stammered. "The cast is set, is it not? How. . ."

Mr. Bellamy gave a hearty laugh. "I did not say the part was yours-only that I wished to hear you sing Mademoiselle. So I could judge for myself. I do so love a good voice."

Rosalie nodded, and swallowed once again. This could not be happening. Besides, how could she possibly sing over this lump in her throat?

"OK" she said. She took a deep breath, and began to sing the soft, beginning strains of Angel of Music. _"Father once spoke of an angel, I used to dream he'd appear. Now as I sing, I can sense him, and I know he's here. . ."_ And at that moment, Rosalie felt that same strange sense of electricity that she had felt in Box 5, and she knew that Erik was indeed, nearby. Feeling his presence emboldened her and enflamed her voice. Without even realizing what she was really doing, she rose to her feet, her voice opening up as her annoyance with her unseen benefactor continued to grow. _"Here in this room, he calls me softly, somewhere inside, hiding."_ She put a definite edge into that word, hoping he would pick up on it. _"Somehow I know he's always with me, he the unseen genius."_ With a toss of her head, she let a touch of sarcasm drip off her words, making her irritation with Erik clear. _"Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory. Angel of music, hide no longer, come to me strange angel!" _She dared him to show himself.

Rosalie's song was cut short by the sound of clapping. "That was incredible, Mademoiselle Daniels!" Mr. Bellamy exclaimed excitedly. "Very beautiful indeed. It is no wonder this O.G. wishes you to sing at the Opera House. "

Rosalie felt a flush creep into her cheeks, and this time it wasn't from anger. Truly, once she had sensed Erik's presence she had completely forgotten Mr. Bellamy was still there. She was singing to Erik, for Erik, and Mr. Bellamy's applause broke her out of her temper. She now recalled the ridiculous reason she had been singing in the first place, and her self consciousness returned. "Thank you, Mr. Bellamy."

"I think your benefactor is right." He continued. "You do belong on the opera stage. Of course, I believe my hands are tied for the Gala-but perhaps we can look into training you and getting you a role in some future production." Mr. Bellamy was smiling.

Rosalie thought Mr. Bellamy's words were unbelievably kind and generous, but she could feel a shift in the air, and had a sense that Erik was not pleased. Well, she was not pleased either. She was going to have to have a talk with the Opera Ghost.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Are you completely insane, Erik?" Rosalie demanded as she burst into Erik's lair. It was only lunch time, but she could not wait to confront him any longer.

Erik looked up from where he was working on his boat, using some scrap wood pieces he had managed to procure from the set building department. "There is precedent for that belief, Rosalie," he returned, dryly. Erik had gotten the distinct impression, as he'd hidden behind the wall in the manager's office, that Rosalie was not exactly pleased with him.

"A note, Erik? About me?" she glared at him.

"Old habits. . ." Erik responded with a crooked grin and a shrug.

Rosalie paused for a moment. Looking at his non-chalant, devil may care expression, she could almost forget why she had been angry with him. Almost. "That's what I was afraid of, 'O.G.!' You can't just start bossing people around like that, Erik! Pretending to be a ghost again won't work."

"It's been working very well so far," he insisted. "And once again, the opera house itself has been the greatest beneficiary of my demands."

"Why did you have to bring me into it, Erik?" Her eyes looked hurt, and confused, "You know how personal and important music is to me. I thought you understood."

Erik hated seeing the sense of betrayal in Rosalie's eyes. Shame crept slowly into his voice. He walked over to Rosalie, and put his hands on her shoulders. "I do understand, Belle Rose. Your music has been a great gift to me."

"To _you,_ Erik. I only sing for _you_!" Rosalie's eyes yearned for understanding. "Only _with_ you. I never wanted to share that part of myself with an audience of strangers."

"Then sing for me, Belle Rose," Erik's eyes had taken on a glow of intensity. "At the gala! Sing only for me. Forget everyone else! Don't force me to watch Ava Gentry bumble her way through the role of Christine. She is entirely wrong for the part. She is nothing like Christine! Christine was sweet and kind-delicate as a summer breeze. She did not demand nor complain. She was gentle and serene, and an absolute delight to be around. Her beauty was celestial. Her voice was ethereal, soaring up into the heavens effortlessly. . ."

As Rosalie listened to him, she realized what this was all about. Erik's objection to Ava Gentry had nothing to do with her technical ability to sing the part of Christine. He absolutely could not abide her in the role, because she did not live up to Christine's memory. Rosalie felt daggers piercing her heart. The longer Erik ranted, the softer his voice became. He spoke of Christine with such reverence, such awe. His love for her was still so apparent. He would never be over her, Rosalie realized. She stayed quiet a moment longer as he waxed poetic about Christine's voice and her virtues, finally finishing with the words, "Ava Gentry is just not Christine!"

With a painful ache in her chest, Rosalie looked in his eyes, "I am not Christine either." An image of the white roses Erik gave her flashed in her mind, mingled with red roses that were meant for another. "But of course," she whispered as her eyes filled with tears, "you already know that." She turned and ran back up the stairs that would lead her to Box 5. She heard Erik's voice call after her, and then some type of crash, as she imagined he had thrown something across the room. But she did not turn back.

After closing away the secret staircase, Rosalie exited the door to Box 5, wiping the tears away from her eyes, resolute to put the day's events behind her. She did not notice Lucas leading a group of tourists down by the other end of the hall. But he noticed her.

**OH, Erik! There you go again with your obsession for Christine! Truly, you are a fool when it comes to women!**

**Please let me know what you thought! **


	13. Chapter 13 Revelations

**HI: I am posting a bit later today, because I had internet issues earlier. But I want to start off by thanking all of my kind reviewers. Your kind words about my story really mean so much to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Also, to guest reviewers, I try to respond personally to each review, but I am not able to respond to you. :( Sign up for an account-it's free, and it's FUN. Also, to _MonAnge1863_, you have been so kind! Thank you, and don't worry. This story is not even quite half way done-lots more to read.**

**Anyway, when we last left Erik, he had his foot firmly inserted into his mouth. Let's see if he can save himself this time!**

13. Revelations

Erik watched as the candle's flame sputtered, flared for a moment, and then went out. Once again, he was alone in the dark, surrounded by blackness that seemed to stretch into eternity. Erik rarely minded the dark. It had always seemed comforting, embracing, accepting of him after light had turned him away. Erik had retreated to the darkness when Christine betrayed him, left him alone, leaving a black hole where his heart used to be.

It had seemed only natural to him that Christine would abandon him to the dark. He'd loved her, but she had been like a star-an entity of the light that glistened and shimmered and stood apart from the darkness that surrounded it, never embracing it. And so, when she left him, it destroyed him, but it did not surprise him. He'd expected to be destroyed. When she went and took her light, he expected that blackness to last forever. And in truth, it had cocooned him for over 100 years.

But then Rosalie came to him with her own light. As Erik sat there and stared into nothingness, he realized now why the dark seemed so much blacker than before, so unrelenting. Rosalie was no mere star. Her light was more like the sun-not standing apart from the darkness, but strong enough to burn it away, bringing warmth where there once was cold, and life where there had been only barrenness. She had not only shown him her light-she had given it to him, filling his soul with her song, making his heart leap with her smile, his pulse race with her kiss. She had made him actually_ want_ to live again. She had shown him, not just compassion, but love. Because of Rosalie, Erik now realized, he had finally known love. Because of Rosalie, Erik found himself not only wishing to be near the light, but yearning to reside in it.

Yet once again he sat alone in the dark-a fitting punishment for seeming to prefer a cold, distant star over the warm, life giving sun. Erik lowered his head into his hands. What a fool he'd been.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucas glanced over once more toward Rosalie's desk. She was a mess. Since he had seen her leaving Box 5, she had been quiet, distant, and he hadn't seen her smile even once. When she did speak, her voice was barely above a whisper, and more than once, he'd caught her staring sadly off into space. He'd wondered if there was trouble in Paradise. Perhaps "E" was no more. Lucas smirked to himself. Had Mr. Romance gotten a little too fresh? He knew how Rosalie wasn't exactly receptive to that kind of thing. He could send her all the roses and love notes he wanted, but with Rosie. . .

Love notes! Lucas raised an eyebrow as he remembered the rose and the note that had graced Rosalie's desk. She had gotten that note just days before Mr. Bellamy had started receiving a string of notes from some nut who was trying to tell him how to run the place. He'd heard rumor that the latest note had mentioned Rosalie. Were the notes connected? Was "E" also "O.G."? Was Rosalie somehow involved in trying to manipulate the management for her own gains? He didn't think she had it in her, but, then why had she been leaving Box 5? She had no real reason to be up there, since she was no longer giving the Opera House tours. And why had she been crying?

Suddenly Lucas remembered something Rosalie had said back when they had been dating, about finding some type of secret passage in Box 5-some type of. . .staircase. Yes it had been a staircase.

Hmmmm. He thought it was time to go have a talk with Mr. Bellamy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"She said it looked like a nail pop," Lucas told his boss, feeling certain he had figured out the mystery of the notes. "and then when she pressed it, the wall opened up. She said it led to some type of staircase that looked like it hadn't been used in a real long time."

Mr. Bellamy looked at Lucas over tented fingers. "Mademoiselle Daniels told you this?"  
"Yes. She found it a few weeks ago" Lucas confirmed.

"Why did _she_ not bring it to my attention" he questioned. "I have been seeing quite a bit of her lately."

"I don't know, Monsieur, but I do remember that just before you started getting your notes, Rosalie got one."

"She did?" Monsieur Bellamy looked very interested now. "Again, she had not mentioned this."

"Well, it was only a short love note. With a rose."

"She shared it with you, Monsieur Dumond?" Mr. Bellamy raised a surprised eyebrow, himself now remembering that morning too.

"Well, no, I kind of. . .peeked." Lucas finally admitted.

Bellamy nodded, "I see. . ."

"Mr. Bellamy," Lucas continued, earnestly trying to make his boss see the connection that he had made. "What if Rosalie went back and investigated those stairs, or what if she had let someone else know about them? This O.G. obviously seems to be way too caught up in the whole Phantom of the Opera mystique. What if he started to go beyond writing notes? You of all people should remember how that story ended."

"Indeed, Monsieur Dumond," Bellamy agreed calmly, "I am familiar with the tale."

"So you can see the potential danger. . ."

"Well, Mr. Dumond, I sense no danger from our assistant manager. His advice has been impeccable, and a real asset to us. But I will go investigate Box 5. For safety reasons, if nothing else."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Erik drew his sand paper across the boards of his small boat. It was almost ready, and soon, he would be able to take Rosalie on a romantic, candlelit voyage across the lake. There was a time when thoughts of romance had made him apprehensive and angry, not to mention downright terrified. For so many years, no woman could even bear to be in the same room with him, much less entertain any romantic notions. But Rosalie was different. Because of her, he could dream. Of course, that was if she came back. A heaviness entered his chest as he recalled that Rosalie had not come back last night. Of course, he had been a complete idiot going on like he had about Christine, and she had been very upset. What if she never returned, and he had once again lost a beautiful woman that he. . .?

No. Rosalie would come back. He had to believe that.

He heard footsteps on the staircase and his heart leapt in his chest, imagining at first that she was coming down to see him early. But then he realized the footsteps were heavier and more fumbling than Rosalie's and he knew that it was not her. Erik moved himself into the shadows, so he could observe this new intruder unseen.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rahim Bellamy stepped forward into the Phantom's realm, and let his eyes wander in amazement at the treasures that surrounded him. Pipe organ, grand piano, books, candles, it was all as it had been described in the tales told by his family for generations. To the left was the subterranean lake, the life of the opera house, really. Had the water beneath the building not been tamed into this elegant artery, the foundations would have crumbled to the ground long ago. In the productions of the musical, the lake is always depicted as a shallow, misty thing, but this lake was alive with current-deep and impassable without some type of boat. . .

His eyes moved before him, deeper into the lair, where he saw what looked like the remnants of an old gondola which seemed to be under repair. He moved toward it, reaching forward to stroke the sanded wood. Could it be true? Could his great grandfather's superstitions have been right?

"Erik?" he called, out to the darkness. "Erik, are you still here?"

XXXXXXXXXXX

Erik could not believe his ears. The manager was calling his name. How could this be? He and Rosalie had decided not to reveal his existence to anyone. Surely she had not betrayed him in her anger. No, his beautiful Rose would never go that far.

Certainly the notes would not have driven Bellamy down here. They were reminiscent of his methods of old, that is true, but no sane mind would immediately jump to the conclusion that the Phantom was still alive under the opera house. It could easily be the work of some overzealous fan who was overexcited for the gala at the Palais Garnier. It would have been much more logical to assume something like that.

"Erik, can you hear me?" Bellamy continued, taking a few steps closer to where Erik was hidden. "I mean you no harm."

Not expecting visitors other than Rosalie, and having become complacent in his secrecy for the past 100 years, Erik was not carrying anything with which to defend himself-or with which to distract attackers while he made a quick get-away. He was going to have to deal with this threat somehow. He only hoped he could manage to do it in a way which would not bring down the opera house.

"Not too close, Good Monsieur!" Erik called in a ghostly voice which seemed to emanate out of the very air beside the manager. "You would not want to rouse the wrath of the Phantom."

Erik's voice did not have the intended effect when he saw the manager's face break into an excited smile. "Is it really you?" Bellamy asked, his voice aflame with wonder. "Are you really still here, Monsieur Phantom?"

Erik was confused, but continued the only way he knew how. "It is you who have entered my realm, Monsieur. Who are you to question my presence? I should be the one questioning yours."

"He was right!" Bellamy exclaimed, putting his hands to his face in amazement. "Great Grandfather was right! All those years. All those stories. How we laughed at him! But he was right all along." Erik was lost for words watching this. What on earth was this man prattling on about? "Are you here in truth, Sir," Bellamy called out to him once more. "Or are you truly now a ghost? Oh, I never dreamed! I dared not hope. . ."

Erik was so taken aback, that he forgot to throw his voice. "What on earth are you talking about, Monsieur?" He realized his mistake in an instant, when Bellamy looked straight in his direction. Without his weapons or tricks, Erik truly felt he had no other choice than to show himself. No matter, he thought. Throughout the Phantom years he had granted the occasional sighting to solidify his myth and emphasize the seriousness of his demands. At those times, he was met with immediate terror, his every victim fleeing without hesitation. He hoped the same would hold true for this blithering idiot that had somehow found his way down to the lair.

Erik moved out of the shadows and stood before the manager. He stood tall and imposing in his white poet's shirt and black pants, his mask striking a terrifying figure. Monsieur Bellamy's eyes widened, and he gasped "It _is_ you!"

Erik was reminded of the first night Rose saw him playing the organ. She had uttered almost the same phrase. But he decided he would try to have a little fun with this fool who had happened upon his lair. After all, because of him, he was going to have to speed up his efforts on the boat, so that he could brick up the Box 5 entrance. Obviously, it was no longer secure. "Who else would I be, Monsieur, but me?"

"Remarkable. . ." Bellamy exclaimed in wonder. Erik knew that his continued existence was truly incomprehensible, but he was getting rather irked by the wonderment surrounding him. "Are you, a ghost?"

Erik had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He allowed a menacing tone to enter his voice, "I am, as I have always been, a phantom."

"Great Grandfather always swore," Bellamy stammered, "That the Phantom was but a man."

Erik felt an eyebrow raise. "And who, Monsieur Bellamy," Erik began scoffingly, "Is your great grandfather, to refute the spectral nature of The Phantom?"

"Nadir Khan." Bellamy stated simply.

"Nadir. . ." Erik hissed wistfully, putting a hand out on the stone to steady himself. He felt an ache of sadness in his chest. For as much as Erik had denounced Nadir to Rosalie for telling his story and for stealing his music, he had been Erik's one true friend in life. It would truly be a wonder if this man before him was related to Nadir, but Erik knew that was impossible. "You lie, Sir. Nadir's one son, Reza, died in childhood. I was with him when it happened," he spat, remembering the most painful moment of his life that was not related to Christine. "It destroyed Nadir!" And nearly himself, as he had been the one to mix the potion to put the boy out of his misery. It had been a kind act, but not a joyful one.

"That is true, Monsieur," Bellamy concurred, "But Reza was not his only son. After the events at the Opera, Nadir found another wife-a French woman, named Jeanette -my great grandmother. Together they too had a son. "

Erik felt himself sway again. He moved over to a chair to sit. It would not do well for the Phantom to seem to be overcome with emotions, but it could not be helped. Nadir had found another wife! It did not seem possible. Nadir's love for Rookheeya had rivaled his own for Christine. It seemed he would never get over losing her during their son's birth. And yet, he had found another woman to love-for Erik knew Nadir would never have married again if not out of love.

Erik looked up at the man before him. Bellamy was a Frenchman, no doubt, but now that Erik knew to look for them, he could discern soft Persian features beneath the predominantly French appearance. There was something familiar in the kindness of his eyes, and Erik thought he could see the distant spirit of his dear friend alive in his great grandchild.

When Erik remained silent, Bellamy told his story. "I remember my great grandfather from when I was very little. He would tell us stories about his dear friend Erik who lived beneath the opera house. He told us how he was brilliant and kind, but hideous, and dangerous, and in the end, completely mad." A flicker of hurt must have reflected in Erik's eyes, for Bellamy was quick to add, "I'm sorry, Monsieur. But he also always said that the madness came because his friend was so unhappy and alone. That the world had been unkind to poor, unhappy Erik. And the most unkind had been Christine, who'd held his heart in her hands, and broke it."

"She was not to blame. . ." Erik muttered hollowly and reflexively. "She was never to blame."

"He told us the story of the great betrayal on the stage of the opera, and how it resulted in the mob attack that everyone had assumed caused your death. He had tried to stop the mob, you see, but had been knocked unconscious-powerless to do anything to help. Afterward, he made his way down into your lair, careful to avoid the traps he knew you had set for intruders. He saw your lifeless body, broken beyond belief, and he wept for you. He returned above and got word to Christine that you had perished. He said it had been your wish that she come back to bury you when you were gone. But Christine proved once again to be a faithless friend, refusing to have any more to do with you. She had wed Raoul the very night they betrayed you, and was off to start her new life.

So Great Grandfather returned, determined to take care of it himself, but when he did, he found your body lying in the casket bed you had made for yourself. Convinced that Christine had had a change of heart, there he left you, to rest beneath the opera house you loved so dearly. But before going, he took a few of your manuscripts, feeling strongly that it was wrong for your masterpieces to die with you. He felt the world should know the brilliance they rejected-the light they had extinguished. He felt that something of your genius should live on to mock those who held themselves above you. As he was leaving your lair for the final time, he could have sworn he heard a dry, cracked voice call "Christine." He rushed back to your coffin. He took your pulse, but felt nothing. At that moment, there was a pawing at his leg. He looked down to see a gorgeous Siamese cat looking up at him."

"Ayesha. . ." Erik whispered. So, his little lady had found a home after all.

"Yes, that was her name. He assumed Ayesha had been responsible for the noise. Reluctantly, he left you, bringing the cat along with him. He always wondered if he were wrong, and it had not been the cat crying out for attention-if somehow, perhaps, you had _become_ the ghost which you had always fashioned yourself to be.

"He went on with his life. He sat down with the author Gaston Leroux, telling him the story of poor, unhappy Erik. He held your manuscripts in our family for generations, until my own father finally put them in the hands of a friend of his who was a promising composer. He met Great Grandmother and they married, and from their union, they brought forth a son they named Erik. Great Grandfather doted on his son, giving him every advantage in life. He said it was time for the world to know a happy Erik."

Oh how Nadir had honored him, giving his name to his precious son! He never would have wished his name on another human being-a name he had only heard said in his lifetime with scorn and loathing. Yet knowing that Nadir thought so highly of him to use his name for his son was humbling-and it made his ache for his old friend even greater.

"Years later, when the Opera House had fallen into decline, and found itself on the auction block, Great Grandfather used his entire savings to buy it. He could not bear to see your masterpiece torn down. So he painstakingly restored the Palais Garnier, and gifted it to his son. Our family has held it ever since, as a secret legacy to Great Grandfather's oldest, dearest friend, and my grandfather's namesake-poor, unhappy Erik."

Erik was speechless. He'd had no idea how deep Nadir's friendship ran. He'd saved the Opera House! He'd told his story. He'd made it possible for his music to be found. If not for any of that, Erik likely would have remained in that awful state of non-living for all eternity. He certainly would have never met Rosalie. Nadir, his constant companion during his miserable, wretched life had made it possible for him to live again. And for that he would be eternally grateful and in his debt.

"Monsieur Bellamy," Erik said with reverence, "Your great grandfather was a good friend. I am indebted to him-and therefore to you."

"You owe me nothing, Monsieur." Bellamy said fervently, "I would, however, like to know if you are truly now a ghost or somehow still a man."

"I am but a man, my friend." Erik replied, resigned. "Never more, never less."

"Then how. . ." Bellamy began.

"There are some things even I can not really explain." Erik replied, not having the strength to go into the whole story. "I too thought I would die after the mob beating. And then. . .I didn't."

Bellamy looked at Erik a moment longer, and when he realized no further explanation would be forthcoming, he said, "So you are the one who has been sending me the notes."

Erik was grateful for the change of topic. He needed something a little less emotionally charged.

"I am."

"Your advice so far has been spot on. I thank you for it." Bellamy's voice took on a cheerful tone. "I have long felt I was in need of an assistant manager to help me blunder my way through the running of the opera. "

At this, Erik chuckled. "You are doing a fine job on your own, Monsieur. But I thank you for following my advice." Erik added, kindly, "Your predecessors were not always so inclined."

"About Mademoiselle Daniels. . ." Bellamy began.

"Yes," Erik asked, hoping maybe Nadir's great grandson would give him word about how Rosalie was doing. Did she truly hate him now?

"She has a lovely voice, Monsieur," Bellamy said. "I agree she would make a lovely Christine. . ."

"Do not worry your head about it, Monsieur." Erik cut him off, cheerlessly. "It is not to be."

Bellamy noticed the air of sadness that overtaken Erik, and mistakenly assumed the reason why. "What was she like? Miss Da'ae?"

"Christine was like a star at night," Erik sighed heavily, "glimmering brightly in the darkness."

"And you loved her." Rahim added.

"Yes," Erik agreed, "I loved her." The words suddenly felt strange on his lips. Less weighty, less important. The sting had somehow been taken out of them, and they were merely an acknowledgement of a fact that had been true in the past.

"Is Mademoiselle Daniels much like her?" Rahim pressed. "Is that why you wanted her in the role of Christine?"

"Rosalie," Erik's voice took on a tone of one enchanted, "is nothing like her. A star, you see, is distant, cold, untouchable. But Rosalie," his eyes sparkled at the mention of her name, "Is like the sun, strong and brilliant, spreading light and warmth to those around her, bringing life where there was none."

"You are in love with _her_." Monsieur Bellamy exclaimed in disbelief.

Erik looked at him. Could he do it? Could he once again claim that emotion which had proven so destructive to him? "I am, Sir." he spoke with conviction in his eyes.

"And she?" Bellamy asked.

"I do not know, Monsieur." Erik admitted truthfully, nervously. "We have not spoken of love. But she knows what I am, and. . ." Erik trailed off.

"And. . .?" the manager prodded

"She stayed." Erik concluded, feeling hope in his heart until it was dashed with his next thought. "At least she did until I drove her away." Erik covered his face with his hands. "Oh God, Rosalie," he moaned to himself, forgetting for a moment, Bellamy's presence. "Please come back to me."

"Monsieur," Bellamy replied, an extremely serious expression on his usually kind face. "If you have driven away the woman you love, the woman who may love you, you _must_ go after her. You cannot wait for her to come back, because she may not think you want her. And you know that the love of a good woman is a gift more precious than gold."

Erik knew in his heart that Bellamy was right. Rosalie had always been the one to come to him. But now, to fix this hurt he had caused with his thoughtless words about Christine, he had to go to her. "Thank you Monsieur Bellamy." Erik nodded, respectfully. "You are much like Nadir." And if going to Rosalie would cause her to come back to him, Bellamy, like Nadir before him, had once again saved Erik's life.

**Well, you have to admit, Lucas was at least useful this time! LOL. Erik made a new friend!**

**Since the next chapter is a little shorter, I could be convinced to post it later this evening, if there is enough interest. **

**Please let me know what you think!**


	14. Chapter 14 A White Rose

**Ok, here you all are-the extra chapter. It goes out especially to EMCLucky13. Enjoy!**

14. White Rose

Rosalie was beginning to wonder if perhaps Mr. Bellamy's attentions were too much of a good thing. He had come to her late in the day, just before her shift was about to end, and asked her to deliver some menu plans for the gala reception at the terrace cafe. She had reminded him that all the cafe staff had gone home for the evening, since there was no production that night, but Mr. Bellamy was adamant that they would need the information on hand first thing in the morning, so he wanted her to deliver the plans tonight. Rosalie had smiled and said of course.

After all, she'd thought, it's not like she had anywhere to go this evening except to a lonely apartment. She could not make herself go see Erik-not after he had made his enduring feelings for Christine clear to her. Rosalie had been devastated to hear him speak of the soprano with such adoration, since in her mind, Christine had always been a traitor, using Erik to train her voice, but not willing to accept him for who he was. He had only desired to exalt her on the stage, as he had already exalted her in his heart. Yet she had willfully brought about his downfall. To Erik, however, Christine was everything, and Rosalie had to face the fact that, even though Christine had now lived out her life as the wife of another, Erik would never stop loving her. No matter how many songs Rosalie shared with him, or how many kisses, Christine would always be there in the background, making sure that Erik could never give Rosalie his heart. Of course, that was what Rosalie wanted most.

So it was with a penetrating sadness that Rosalie began her walk to the terrace cafe to do Mr. Bellamy's bidding. She reached into her pocket to grab her keyring, but was surprised to find the cafe's door unlocked and the room aglow with light. "Hello?" she called, thinking maybe someone had stayed behind waiting for the plans, but no one answered her. Strange, she thought, that they would go for the evening and leave the lights on and the door unlocked. Rosalie walked inside and looked around. She went to the hostess station to drop the plans at the agreed upon location, and when she did, she saw a folded piece of parchment paper and a white rose with black ribbon lying across the top. _Belle Rose_ was written across the front in an elegant hand.

Rosalie took the rose in her hand, tears springing to her eyes. She lifted the parchment in trembling hand before unfolding it and reading.

_I miss you._

Now the tears began to roll down her cheek. She missed Erik dreadfully too.

At that moment, Rosalie heard a music box gently begin to play. She looked around and saw the small figurine of a monkey with cymbals in his hands-the inspiration for the grander one seen on stage in the musical. Rosalie walked over and saw that today the monkey was holding another white rose, and at its feet was a second folded note with her name on it. She took this rose also, and opened this note more quickly this time, reading,

_I'm sorry._

That was it. Two simple words. But still, she felt her breath catch in her chest. Had Erik ever apologized to anyone before? It seemed to run contrary to his nature.

Suddenly, Rosalie felt that same electric feeling that she knew meant Erik was nearby. She looked toward the glass doors to the terrace, and noticed that once again, some lights glowed where it should be dark. Taking her roses and her notes, she walked quickly in that direction, hoping she would find Erik there.

When the door opened before her, Rosalie could not prevent a gasp from escaping her lips. Roses-so many roses-were scattered in pots and containers all along the deck. And every one of them was red.

Rosalie held her hands to her mouth in amazement, the tears flowing again. The fragrance was heavenly. The night was beautiful. And slowly walking through the archway which lead from the gardens was Erik, holding in his hand a single red rose tied with a white ribbon.

When he reached her, he held the rose out to her and gazing into her eyes, he plead, "Forgive me."

Rosalie threw her arms around him with a wordless sob, and held him close, burying her face in his chest, never wanting to let him go. Erik wrapped one arm around her back, the other hand stroking her hair, as he whispered over and over again, "I'm sorry, Rosalie. I'm so, so sorry."

When Rosalie felt able to withdraw slightly from their embrace, she looked up and met Erik's eyes. She said to him, in a shaky voice, "You don't have to apologize, Erik. I know that Christine is a part of you-that you loved her then and that you always will. She's your angel. I know that neither of us can ever change that." She felt the sobs creeping up on her again, and she closed her eyes tight against the tears.

Erik pulled her against his chest again and held her tightly. Oh how his heart hurt to hear her so anguished, especially knowing that he was the cause. When she calmed somewhat, he loosened his embrace, holding her so that she could look into his eyes. "Look at me, Rosalie." Erik said, in a tone that was gentle, but firm. He removed his mask so that there were no barriers between them and looked deeply into her eyes. Before he said his next words, he marveled once again, that even with his hideousness on display before her, she _did_ look at him unflinchingly. He desperately hoped that through his eyes she would see the truth that was written plain in his heart.

"Belle Rose," he began gently, a look of tenderness passing in his eyes. "First of all, I was so wrong to do what I did. You shared your voice with me as a precious gift, and I acted as if it were mine to give away-as if _you_ were mine to give away, never taking your feelings into account. Please know that I will not do that again."

Rosalie nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes, as Erik continued.

"And I was so wrong to compare you to Christine-to speak of her like I did. I. . ." he paused, seeming to look for the right words. "I do not want you to think that you are in any way inferior to Christine. Her voice was excellent, it's true, but your voice is flawless-so strong and bright, and full of life." He smiled and stroked her cheek, brushing away another errant tear with a gentle fingertip. "And she was beautiful, yes. Ethereal as the stars in the sky. But you, Rosalie. . ." he sighed in wonder, "You are my sun. You have brought a light to my darkness, joy to my shattered heart.

"You are like a white rose -so beautiful and pure and bursting with joy. Like the rose's sweet scent, your sweetness pervades everything around you, yet like the stem of the rose, you are strong-so strong. Where Christine was weakened by my appearance and turned away from me, you are with me, night after night, despite my face. You manage to make me _forget_ my face when I gaze upon the radiance of yours. You are in no way inferior to Christine, my Rose. If anything, she would have done well to be more like you.

Rosalie was speechless, as she stared at Erik in awe. All of a sudden, the white roses Erik had favored for her seemed like the world's most precious gift, and she almost pitied Christine for not receiving them.

"Loving Christine," Erik went on to say, "had been a part of me for so long, it had become a. . .a habit to behave as if it was so. But in truth, Rose, I did not ask you to sing the role of Christine because I want her back. Last night, when I was alone with my thoughts, I realized, Rosalie, that I don't. I no longer pine for Christine. You make it possible for me to say her name without pain. I can remember her and not ache because of you. You have healed me, Rosalie. You have fixed that which I thought unfixable. It's _you_ I want. Not some reincarnation of Christine. Heaven can keep its Angels. I'd rather hold my strong, beautiful Rose in my arms," he entreated from the bottom of his very soul, hesitating very slightly before adding, "I _love_ you, Belle Rose. Only you. _Always_ you." With his final words, he pulled her face to his and joined their lips in a kiss that sealed their destinies, entwining one with the other. "Oh, Rosalie," he murmured before kissing her again. "I love you so much."

"And I love you, Erik." Rosalie sobbed, between kisses. "I think I've loved you my entire life."

When they finally separated, Erik took her hand and led her to one of the terrace benches, so they could sit and enjoy the fragrance of the roses and the twinkling of the stars. Rosalie sat there, her head nestled onto his shoulder, knowing that she and Erik had somehow found true love. Of course it was fantastic and insane, and unbelievable, but it was theirs and it was real.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Rosalie. "So, Erik, how did you manage to get Mr. Bellamy to send me here tonight to deliver the plans? Did you put it on his "to do" list in your latest note?"

Erik chuckled at her joke and replied, "Oh, my dearest Rose. Your Phantom has his ways."

"Mmmmm," she agreed, "And, apparently, his secrets."

"Not from you, Rosalie." he looked at her and whispered. "Never again from you." And he recounted for her Rahim Bellamy's story, shedding light on their newfound connection.

"That's amazing, Erik." Rosalie commented when the tale was done. "Nadir must have been a very special friend."

"He was, Rosalie." Erik agreed "I owe him so much."

"So do I," said Rosalie. "If he hadn't told your story, I never would have met my soulmate."

Erik leaned over and kissed her forehead, "If he hadn't told my story," Erik agreed, "I never would have met my everything." He put his arm around her and squeezed her tightly against a sudden chill that had risen on the evening air. At that moment, he knew in his heart, that in his arms he held his whole world.

**So our lovebirds are back together! Isn't Erik romantic? Please, as always, let me know what you think!**


	15. Chapter 15 A Candlelit Voyage

**Well, I am glad Erik apologized and got their relationship back on track! He really is quite the romantic, as you could tell. :)**

**Anyway, just a little warning, things get a bit steamy later in this chapter. As my beta would say, it contains a bit of smut light. I made sure not to cross any lines, but just wanted to let you know it's there. (Now, don't go skipping to the end! Like _I_ would! LOL) **

**Also, there's going tobe a bit of a challenge at the end of the chapter, so read carefully.**

15. A Candlelit Voyage

Erik awoke in the morning, with jubilation in his heart, and a whisper on his lips. "Rose," he sighed contentedly, as he remembered the look of pure joy on her face when she had seen all the roses he had set out for her, the tear that had trickled down her cheek when he handed her the final red rose and asked for forgiveness. She had thrown her arms around him and given him so much more than absolution. She had given him his first taste of love, real love that was shared between two hearts, and not the kind that languished alone and unfulfilled in the darkness.

Truth be told, Erik realized, Rosalie had been showing him love from the moment her voice had called him out of the shadows. The way she held him when he told her of his misdeeds and cried for his pain was as much an expression of love as her magical words from the previous evening. The way she kissed him when he removed his mask-oh he shuddered at the memory. All of Rosalie's kisses made his pulse race and his blood burn with a hunger for her he was finding more and more difficult to resist. They seared his soul and awoke passions in him that he had not even known existed. But that first whisper of a kiss, which came at the moment he was most certain she would turn away. . . If hearing her voice had given him back his heart, that kiss had certainly snatched it from him again, and secured it firmly in Rosalie's safekeeping.

Erik felt so alive, he burst from the sofa on which he had fallen asleep. Even this, he thought, was new and wonderful since Rosalie had come into his life. For more than 100 years, he had not rested. He had lain dormant and still, aching with an insatiable emptiness, yet he had not slept. But last night, after Rose had gone, he reclined on the sofa, just remembering their wonderful evening, and sleep had taken him; renewing, rejuvenating sleep-the most peaceful he'd had in his life. He relished the slight hint of hunger he now felt. Now that love had finally found him, life was flowing through his veins once more, humming its joyful song, wakening him to possibilities he had only ever thought were unattainable dreams.

Suddenly, Erik felt a little lightheaded. He reached out an arm to steady himself until his mind stopped swimming. He came to with a shiver, noticing that the temperature in his home was rather cold. No matter, he thought. He would build a fire in the hearth so that the room would be welcoming and cozy for Rosalie later. But now, he thought, he really needed to find some food.

After stealing into the kitchens to grab a bite to eat, Erik was overcome with an undeniable urge just to see Rosalie. He crept into the secret hallway behind her office. She was sitting there at her workspace, working diligently on her morning tasks, and she looked so intellectually beautiful with her hair pulled back away from her face, and a pencil hanging out of her mouth. He smiled when he saw the vase of roses, both white and red, sitting before her on the desk-white for the pure joy she inspired in his heart, red for the passionate love that he felt for her. Once again remembering the delight on her face when she saw last night's roses, Erik yearned to see her smile, and he was just about to knock on the wall to get her attention when he noticed someone enter the office.

He was a handsome youth about Rosalie's age, with sandy hair, a ruddy complexion and winsome blue eyes. He was shorter than Erik, but well muscled, and the confident look on his face made it clear that he was not used to being refused or ignored by anyone.

"Morning, Rosie!" said the youth cheerfully as he strode up to her workspace, carrying an extra cup of coffee and a croissant. He placed the breakfast treats in front of her and leaned on the corner of her desk. Erik stiffened as he surveyed the young man's approach. What was this boy up to?

Rosalie looked first at the breakfast foods and then up at Lucas, a puzzled smile on her face. "Hi, Lucas" she greeted him, her eyes narrowing in confusion, "What's this?"

_Yes, what _is_ this_, Erik thought from his vantage point behind the wall.

"You looked pretty tired and worn down yesterday morning," Lucas responded, giving Rosalie a sweet smile that made Erik's fingers twitch with desire for his Punjab Lasso. "I thought maybe you could use a little morning 'pick me up'."

Rosalie nodded skeptically, and Erik was proud of the obvious suspicion in her gaze. "Um, thanks." She said, reaching out and taking a sip of the coffee. "That was very nice of you."

_Too nice_, as far as Erik was concerned.

Rosalie was slowly trying to turn back to her work, when Lucas asked her, "So, Rose, did you hear about the Halloween Ball that's coming up in honor of the Gala?"

Rosalie gave an amused little huff. "Hear about it?" she asked, "Lucas, you know I created the invitations for that event."

"Oh, that's right!" he laughed off his forgetfulness. "Well, I was wondering if you'd like to go together? You and me? Like old times?"

Erik's heart stopped beating in his chest. Had the insufferable youth really just asked _his_ Rosalie out for a social engagement? Had he really been so bold? Erik was just about to open the secret door that would lead into the office so that he could dispatch the youth once and for all, when a tiny voice inside his head stopped him. Why shouldn't this boy try to gain Rosalie's affections? He's young and handsome and undoubtedly has never been refused by any woman who had ever caught his fancy. The youth had mentioned "old times" to Rosalie. Erik remembered his own old times, which consisted of a youthful fop-much like this Lucas, in fact-stealing the woman he'd thought he'd loved right out from under him. Is this the moment, he wondered, when Rosalie would come to her senses and ask herself what she was doing with a hideous beast of a man, when she could have a handsome prince instead? Erik braced himself for her answer, which he knew had the power to destroy him.

Rosalie took a deep breath, glancing down at her desk, before looking up to meet Lucas's confident gaze. "There's not going to be any returning to old times for us, Lucas." Erik heard Rosalie say and his heart skipped a beat. "I'm seeing someone, and it's pretty serious." Erik felt a warmth spread through his chest, as he saw Rosalie's eyes light up at the mention of their relationship. Is this how it felt to be chosen, instead of rejected? Is this how it felt to be in love with someone who loved you in return? It was all new to Erik, but he was finding love to be the most glorious feeling, becoming more-so with each facet of it that he uncovered. Rosalie's love and acceptance were staggering to him.

If Lucas had been in any way swayed by the notion that Rosalie was spoken for, he did not show it. Still confident, he asked "So, who's the guy, Rosie?"

Rosalie merely smiled and said, "You wouldn't know him, Lucas. "

_But we could get to know each other very quickly_, Erik thought, his fingers balling into a fist as the boy continued to press Rosalie on the subject.

"Well, are we going to meet him at the costume ball?"

Erik's attention sharpened, waiting for her answer. Rosalie sighed a little uncomfortably, "I don't think we're going to be there, Lucas." Did Erik detect disappointment in her voice?

Lucas raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Really, Rosie? You've always been all about The Phantom," Erik felt a sly smile creep over his face at these words. "It's not like you to not want to be there for a party in his honor."

Erik listened closely for Rosalie's response to this, "I still am _all_ about The Phantom. But it's not a party in _his_ honor, Lucas." Rosalie argued. "It's a party for the musical, honoring the cast and crew. A crowded party is just not Erik's thing. And I could do without being in the same room with Ava Gentry for the entire evening." She and Erik both shuddered at the mention of the soprano's name.

"Erik, huh?" Lucas answered, finally seeming a little ruffled. "Well if this _Erik_ makes you miss out on things that would normally be important to you, he might not be the right guy for you." Erik felt his heart clench once again. As much as he hated to admit it, the fop had a point.

Rosalie looked at him, annoyed. "And just who do you think _is_ the right guy for me, Lucas?"

_Yes, who_, Erik wondered, as he leaned a little more toward the wall.

Lucas's lips curled into a cocky smile. "Well, we used to have lot of fun together, Rosie, didn't we?"

Erik raised an eyebrow at that comment. He found that he was holding his breath to see what she would say next.

"Not enough for your taste, if I remember correctly," she snapped back with a fake smile as sharp as a dagger.

"Still mad at me about that, Rosie," Lucas asked in a condescending tone, leaning over to trail a finger down her cheek.

At seeing this, Erik forgot himself momentarily, and lunged at the wall, causing an audible thump on the other side. Lucas startled at the sound, as Rosalie backed away from his touch in disgust. "What was that?" he wondered out loud, looking toward the wall suspiciously.

"It's a really old building, Lucas." Rosalie spat, irritation dripping off every word. "Probably just the walls settling," she said with emphasis on the word settling. Oh, his Rosalie knew him so well, thought Erik, forcing himself to calm down, and not react with the recklessness that was flooding his mind.

"Well the offer stands, if you'd like to go to the ball after all," Lucas said, standing up from her desk. "You know, just incase '_Erik_' doesn't man up." Turning to go, he added, "Enjoy the treats, Rosie."

"Yeah, thanks!" she called out after him with disdain, tossing the coffee and the croissant into the wastebasket beside her desk. "Erik's more of a man than you'll ever be," she muttered to the air around her, just in case someone was listening.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik returned to the passageway behind the office as Rosalie was getting ready to leave work for the day. Seeing that she was alone, he rapped on the wall gently to get her attention, then pressed the switch to open the secret door, holding his finger to his lips and beckoning her to come forward. A look of amusement spread over her face, as Rosalie glanced over her shoulder once and hurriedly ran to him. Once Erik had closed the entrance, Rosalie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him in a passionate greeting Erik was only too happy to return. When at last they separated, ruffled and breathless, Rosalie murmured, "I _knew_ you were here earlier!"

Erik smiled, still holding her close to him, his fingers trailing in her long hair. "I know you did, but how?"

"I felt you," Rosalie admitted, her eyes sparkling at the notion. "I can always feel you when you're near."

Erik's heart flip flopped at her words. "I love you so much, Belle Rose," he whispered, as he placed his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth closer for another kiss.

When they again separated, Rosalie asked him, "So why did you meet me here tonight?"

"Well, I have a surprise for you." Erik admitted, taking her hand in his, and beginning to lead her along the passageway, grasping a lit torch to shed a little illumination on their path.

As they walked, hand in hand, Rosalie was awed at the intricate tunnels and chambers through which they passed. "How many of these passageways exist, Erik?" she asked in amazement.

"Countless, Belle Rose. Many of them are decoys, in case anyone were to actually discover them. I did not want it to be easy for anyone to uncover my hiding place. I knew it would only mean trouble if anyone ever did." Erik looked down in amusement at Rosalie and placed a little peck on her forehead. "How right I was."

"Oh, ha ha!" Rosalie laughed, giving Erik a little squeeze.

They moved on a little farther until Rosalie could hear the sound of water. "The lake!" Rosalie exclaimed, looking up to Erik in surprise.

"Yes, Belle Rose. We are on the opposite side of the lake from my home." he said with a smile.

"Well, then," asked Rosalie, "How are we going to get there?"

They rounded the final corner and Rosalie saw makeshift dock and a small wooden boat bobbing on the surface of the green water. Erik held his hand out toward it and said, "Your surprise, my Lady."

"Your boat!" Rosalie exclaimed, excitedly, bouncing up and down a little. "You finished it!"

"I did." Erik agreed, "And you are about to join me on her maiden voyage back across the lake."

Rosalie let out a little squeal of delight, as Erik entered the boat, taking a seat on the bench across the back. He held out his hand to her and guided her in, helping her to settle down in front of him, so that she could lean back against his chest as he rowed. Erik reached out and untied the little rope that had been holding his boat to the dock, then used an oar to push off the side, setting them afloat for their journey across the water.

Erik had lit candles every so often along the water's edge, casting a romantic glow and mysterious shadows along the lake and caverns that led to his home. Rosalie took it all in with a look of wonder on her face. The way she appreciated the dark beauty of his underground world was breathtaking to Erik-another sign that she was truly his miracle. As he leaned forward to row, the scent of her hair was intoxicating, and the nearness of her body against his chest teased at his desires, until it was all he could do to continue rowing and not shower her graceful neck with passionate kisses. He had to somehow distract himself from his growing longing for her, or they might never make it back to his home.

He decided to ask her about something that had been bothering him since his earlier visit to her office.

"So, Rosalie, who's this Lucas?"

Rosalie had a feeling that question would be coming up some time tonight. "He's just a fellow intern who's pretty full of himself," she rolled her eyes, remembering his behavior from earlier.

"What were those old times he mentioned?" Erik pressed on, not wanting to seem jealous, but knowing it would bother him if he didn't get an answer.

Rosalie sighed. "We dated briefly when I first started working here."

"He was your suitor?" Erik asked, worry furrowing his brow.

"No. . .yes," Rosalie became flustered, "I mean, we saw each other for about a month, but it was never serious."

"Did you love him?" Erik asked solemnly.

"No, Erik. I never loved him." Rosalie said with certainty. "I was just getting to know him."

Erik thought quietly for a few moments. "Did he love you?" he asked quietly.

Rosalie gave a sardonic huff, "Certainly not. Let's just say he wanted more than I was willing to give him, and when he finally figured out that he wouldn't be changing my mind, he dumped me."

Erik's eyes narrowed, puzzled by her answer for a moment. "More than what you . . ." It suddenly struck him what Rosalie meant. With a burning loathing building up inside him, he spat "I think I'm going to kill him."

Rosalie became alarmed, "No, Erik, don't kill him," she said, keeping her voice calm. "That's not who you are anymore, and he's not worth your trouble. Nothing ever happened between us, and I think he's just trying to charm me now because he can tell I'm unavailable." She snuggled a little closer into his chest, and whispered, "I _am_ unavailable, you know. To anyone but you."

Erik smiled. Somehow Rosalie had managed to turn a bubbling rage into a feeling of warmth and tenderness and Erik gently kissed the back of her head as they continued their journey.

As they neared his home, Erik remembered he had one more surprise for her. "So, my Love," he asked in a newly light voice, "Are you considering Lucas's offer to go to the costume ball?"

Rosalie glanced over her shoulder at him, she responded, "I would never go to the ball with that dolt!"

Erik could detect the irritation in her voice, and chuckled softly. "Well then, would you like to go with me, Belle Rose?"

Rosalie twisted herself around to face him. "Are you serious, Erik?"

"Yes." he said sincerely, looking her straight in the eyes. "I've been thinking, Rosalie. I may not like this. . ._'dolt'_ Lucas, but he did make one good point. You have embraced me completely, my love, including the world to which I have confined myself. But I find that I want to be a part of _your_ world too, Belle Rose. I don't want you to give up everything important to you for me. If this party is something you would have enjoyed before, then you should go. And I would be honored to go with you."

Rosalie let out an excited squeal. "YES, Erik! I would love for you to take me to the ball!" She spiraled her body around the rest of the way so that she could throw her arms around him and hug him to her. In his surprise, Erik lost hold of one of the oars, and as he shifted to try to catch it before it fell, the whole boat listed to one side and and toppled over, spilling them into the lake.

Rosalie shrieked at the icy water, and as she sank, she immediatly felt Erik's protective arms encircling her, pulling her to the surface. Once her head was above water, Rosalie realized they were close enough to the shore that they could stand on the bottom of the lake. They looked at each other, and at the little boat, which had taken on some water, but was still afloat and they both began to laugh. "See," Erik said, once he knew they were safe, "I _knew_ you were trouble!" He punctuated his sentence by splashing a little water at her face.

"Oh yeah, Phantom?!" Rosalie laughed harder, "How's this for trouble?" and she splashed him right back. They continued splashing each other, squealing in laughter, until eventually Erik grabbed Rosalie to him tightly, and brought their mouths together in a playful kiss that did not stay playful for long. As Rosalie's lips slid across his wet mouth, Erik could feel a sweltering desire replacing the icy sensation of the water. Suddenly, he could not get enough of her mouth, as he parted her lips with his tongue and lapped up her sweetness. His arms tightened around her and he let out a soft groan as he felt her hand reach up to his hair to pull his mouth even tighter against her own. Erik shifted, his mouth never breaking with hers, so that he could lift Rosalie in his arms, and carry her to the shore of his home. He laid her down on the soft, mossy banks of the lake, and stretched his body out against hers, continuing to kiss her the whole time, while his hands now took a journey of their own, exploring the outline of her curves. As his fingers traced her hips, Rosalie tightened her arms around him, crushing her chest against his. A soft moan escaped her lips as she felt the hard plain of his chest teasing at her breasts, feeling the heat of his body right through her cold, wet clothes. She reached down and pulled his lower body more tightly against her, and she could feel the unmistakable outline of his desire firm against her belly. Experimentally, she shifted her hips against him, and she heard him breathe her name as a guttural growl. "Rosalie," he hissed between fevered kisses to her throat, "look what you have done to me."

"Mmmmmm." Rosalie sighed, stretching her neck, to give him better access. He continued to kiss down the column of her throat until his lips reached the gentle rise of her breast. As he placed his mouth over her he could feel her nipple protruding out through the fabric of her shirt. He was just about to reach for her buttons, giving in to his overwhelming desire to feel Rosalie's skin, when he felt a sudden chill run up his back, immediately putting the breaks on his advances.

"Belle Rose," Erik said huskily. "It's cold. We need to get you out of those clothes."

"Erik," Rosalie whispered, peppering hot kisses across his chest, "I thought we were working on that."

Erik reluctantly pulled away from her in an attempt to cool his own ardor. "And into some dry ones," he finished his original thought with some difficulty. He wanted absolutely nothing more than to take Rosalie back into his arms and let their actions take their natural course. But the chill he felt had seemed to be about more than just the temperature, and he got an unmistakable urge that they had to stop.

Rosalie took a shuddering breath and looked him in the eyes. She could see no rejection there-no rebuff. Only a desperate plea for her understanding. Slowly, she came back to her senses, and she knew it was right that they stop. She had gone for so many years as the one putting on the breaks. She certainly could not hold it against Erik if he wasn't quite ready. She did not want her first time making love to Erik to happen on a whim. They had to be sure it was right. And so, wrapping her arms around her chest against the cold she smiled at him and sheepishly asked, "Can I borrow a shirt?"

XXXXXXXXXXX

Erik sat with his arm around Rosalie on his little sofa, sipping a cup of tea. A fire was now roaring in the hearth, making the sitting room warm and cozy. Rosalie was wearing one of Erik's shirts, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a pair of his black pants, the bottoms cuffed over several times. She had a towel around her neck, to capture the moisture from her still damp hair, which hung in clumps around her face. As ridiculous as it seemed, Erik thought she was perhaps even more beautiful, clad in his far too big clothing, her hair still dripping from their spontaneous swim.

"So, what do you think I should wear to the ball, Erik?" Rosalie asked him excitedly. "What costume would suit me best?"

"After today, I would think a fish," Erik replied, dryly.

"Hey!" Rosalie feigned insult, giving him a light punch in the arm, which made him finally release the chuckle he had been holding inside.

"I don't know, Belle Rose." Erik looked at her "Maybe a mermaid," he suggested in a soft voice, raking his knuckles gently down her cheek. "Or a fairy princess. Those costumes just _might _come close to doing justice to your beauty."

Rosalie blushed at Erik's romantic suggestions. She said to him, "Promise me you _won't_ dress in costume."

Erik's eyes narrowed at her, "But Rose, it's a costume ball."

"Yes, but in your usual clothes and mask, the guests would already think of you as dressed festively for the event. And I want to be able to look upon as much of your face as possible as you dance with me that night," she said sweetly, cupping his cheek in her hands.

Erik smiled and leaned down for a quick kiss to her lips. He marveled at the way this exquisite woman was able to make _him_ feel like he was some kind of a prize. "Oh all right," he conceded, hugging her tightly, "No costume. But I _am_ wearing my cape!"

**Wow! Even a cold lake doesn't cool these two off! Anyway, did you like the way Rose chose Erik over Lucas, and he _heard? _ Did you enjoy Erik's little freak out and Rosalie's ability to calm him through the wall? Are you excited for the ball? What about their candlelit voyage and the swim in the lake? Did you like what it lead to? :)**

**Anyway, here's the challenge I promised. After Erik suggests Rosalie dress like a fish, he gives a couple very romantic costume suggestions. Do you know which amazing Phan fic I am referencing with the first one? First one to guess right gets a shout out at the beginning of the next chapter! **


	16. Chapter 16 The Music of the Night

**Big shout out goes to Phan3145. She guessed the phan fic I was referencing with the mermaid costume was _Siren of the Sea by FantomPhan33_. If you haven't read it yet, you must! It's Phan-tastic! **

**Well, we're going to the Halloween ball. Hope you all have your favorite costumes on! **

16. The Music of the Night

Erik coughed again as he expertly tied his white bow tie. He smoothed his formal tailcoat and reached for his evening cloak. Rosalie may have asked him to be himself at the ball tonight, but he was determined to be his _best_ self for her. He fastened his cloak, and turned to grab his wide brimmed fedora when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Erik," he heard his name being called, as the opera manager trotted down the steps, "Erik."

"Rahim, my good man!" Erik greeted his friend with a pat on the shoulder and a hearty smile.

"I have arranged the space as we discussed, Erik. I think Miss Daniels will be well pleased."

"Thank you, Rahim." Erik said, gratefully. "I truly want this night to be magical for her."

"It will be, Erik." Rahim looked kindly at him. "But of course, to a woman in love, any night with her beloved is magical."

"Perhaps," Erik said softly, "but tonight should be extra special," he paused, thinking of what his plans were for the evening. He was certain he was finally completely out of his mind, but he was going to ask Rosalie to be his wife. He knew it was early in their relationship still, but he had absolutely no doubts that his feelings for her would last an eternity. Why not ask her, on this perfect night, when the stars would be twinkling brightly in the black sky, and the sweet scent of roses would be in the air. Of course, he had one more question for Rahim. "Have you been able to secure the documents?"  
"They are in the works, Erik." Rahim assured him cheerfully. "Before long, you will have everything you need to be able to legally make Miss Daniels your bride."

Bride, Erik thought. His bride. He placed one hand on his chest, feeling that his heart would burst at the word. Rosalie would surely make an exquisite bride, and one that would be cherished by her husband forever.

"Do _you_ have everything you need for tonight, Erik?" Rahim asked, knowing it was time that Erik left for the ball.

Erik patted the inner pocket of his waistcoat, "Absolutely," he smiled.

"Ok, well then you better go, Romeo!" Rahim laughed as he patted Erik on the back.

"Thank you, Rahim," Erik said, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder, "For everything you have done to help me. Because of you, I will finally be able to claim the life I never had."

"You deserve it, Erik. My great grandfather's deepest regret was that you never found real love in your life. I know he would be thrilled to find that now you have. And Miss Daniels is simply wonderful."

"Yes," Erik agreed softly, his eyes glittering, "She is."

"She's so intelligent and sweet, and talented-not to mention absolutely lovely."

"Watch it, Rahim." Erik warned, raising his eyebrow and folding his arms over his chest as he listened to his friend extol the virtues of his beloved. "It almost sounds like you want to marry her yourself."

"As if I would admit that to the great Phantom," Rahim laughed. "I might find myself hanging by my neck."

He continued to laugh until he heard Erik hiss quietly, "You just might."

When Rahim cleared his throat nervously, Erik released the laugh that had been teasing at his lips and clapped Rahim on the back. "Come on, man! Let's go." Erik turned with a billow of his cape, "I do not wish to keep my lady waiting." The two turned toward the steps with a laugh. Erik could not wait for the evening to begin.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Erik was eager for Rosalie to arrive. They had planned to meet on the terrace so that they might make their entrance into the ball together. Erik remembered the last evening they had spent on this terrace -when he had apologized for being a fool and they had each declared their love for one another. Oh the feeling in his chest was almost too sweet to bear.

He heard soft tapping footfalls on the garden path and he turned to see Rosalie approach, gasping audibly at her beauty. She was wearing a deep red dress, with a fitted bodice glittered with silver dewdrops. The gauzy straps fell off the shoulder, and were gathered at each center with a single rose made of satin ribbon. The skirt was made of a filmy material that cascaded to the floor in tiers which resembled petals, and were gathered in random spots with more ribbon roses. Her normally straight hair fell in gentle waves, with delicate red rosebuds scattered throughout. Across her eyes, she wore a glittery white venetian mask, with a luscious fully bloomed white rose on the upper right corner. She was absolutely dazzling.

"Hello Erik," she greeted him with a sweet smile.

"Belle Rose," he said in a breathless whisper, drifting over to her. "I am enchanted." He lifted her hand to his lips and graced it with a kiss. "You are ravishing."

Rosalie's smile brightened and she stretched her arms around his neck to draw him in closer for a kiss. When they parted, Erik thought it was the hardest thing in the world for him separate his lips from hers. He was beginning to rethink this costume ball. "Do I really have to share you with a room full of people tonight, Belle Rose?"

"For awhile, Erik." Rosalie giggled, mischievously. "Then you can steal me away, back to your underground lair like the Phantom you are, and never let me go!"

"Never let you go, Belle Rose?" Erik purred, leaning in for another kiss. "I like the sounds of that very much." Erik extended his arm for Rosalie to take as they made their way to the ball, the Phantom and the Rose, secretly knowing that instead of going back to his underground kingdom, tonight they would celebrate their love beneath the stars.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The Opera House foyer had been transformed into the eerie underground lair of the Opera Ghost. The dual grand staircase was littered with candelabras that were providing a mysterious atmospheric glow, and mist rolled along the floor. A myriad of hollowed out pumpkins, were scattered around the space setting a festive atmosphere, while spooky music played to set the scene. The Gala cast, opera house staff, as well as special guests masqueraded as ghouls and goblins adding to the unearthly air around the room.

Lucas sat at the bar, sipping another drink, nodding absently at the red haired intern in the skimpy angel costume who had accompanied him to the ball-Jeannie, Ginger, Josie. He couldn't remember her name, because it really didn't matter. After tonight, she would just be one more in a string of females with whom he had dallied while he waited for Rosie to return to her senses and come back to him. He shouldn't have acted so hastily, when he ended his relationship with her. She was certainly playing hard to get back-but Lucas knew she wouldn't last long after tonight. When he had heard through the grapevine that she was going to come to this ball after all, he had gone out and rented a costume he knew she wouldn't be able to resist. She would likely bring this Erik with her-if he was man enough to come, considering that he didn't like crowded parties-but after taking one look at him in his dashing costume, Lucas was sure she would certainly understand his hidden message, and succumb to his charms.

Lucas caught sight of Rosalie across the room. She looked incredible. She seemed to be dressed as a living rose, and while the dress was pretty long, the top hugged her curves in exactly the right way. Lucas slammed the rest of his drink and immediately made his way over to her, unceremoniously cutting off his date, walking away while she was in mid sentence.

"Rosie," Lucas said as he reached her. "You look great."

Rosalie turned toward him. "Lucas, you look. . ." she paused as she surveyed his attire. He was dressed in a loose fitting white dress shirt and black pants, a plastic rapier hanging at his waist. He had a vampire cape tied around his neck and black cowboy boots on his feet. On his head, he wore a black cowboy hat and across his eyes, a black bandit's mask. ". . .like Zorro?"

"Ha ha! Very funny, Rosie," Lucas laughed at her obvious joke with an arrogant chuckle, "I dressed as the Phantom! Just for you." He did a little spin around so Rosalie could get the full effect of his cape.

Rosalie scrunched her eyes at his declaration. "Ummm, Lucas, I didn't realize a cowboy hat was part of the costume, and the mask is. . .never mind." She shook her head at Lucas's insane idea of The Phantom's appearance.

Lucas waved off her comments. "Details! So," he said, "Here alone, huh? Couldn't convince Erik to join you?"

"Well, actually. . ." Rosalie began, but Lucas kept talking over her.

"Foolish guy. But you can hang with me tonight. I'm not here with anyone special either," he started to put his arm around her back.

"Here you are, Belle Rose," Erik said, carrying two flutes of champagne, which he had picked up from a waiter's tray. He stood between Rosalie and Lucas, who came close to getting a handful of Erik's cape, instead of Rosalie's back. Erik handed Rosalie her drink, placing an arm around her waist. He then turned to face Lucas. "Rose, my love, would you like to introduce me to your friend?" He flashed Lucas a cordial smile. "I don't believe we've met."

Rosalie could barely contain her giggle as she said, "Erik, meet Lucas. Lucas, _this_ is Erik."

"Oh, uh, hi." Lucas stammered at Erik's commanding presence, immediately flustered and lost for words.

Rosalie could not resist twisting the knife just a little. "Erik, isn't it funny that you both dressed as the Phantom?"

Erik looked at Rosalie quizzically, and then realized, in horror, that Lucas's shabby outfit was supposed to represent him. "Oh, yes," he choked out, looking Lucas up and down. "But then again," Erik continued, looking back at Rosalie sweetly, "You have _always_ loved the Phantom, no?"

Rosalie looked directly at Erik, her eyes glistening, and answered, "Yes, _always_. And I _always_ will."

"I know _I_ chose my costume just to sweep you off your feet." Erik responded with a half smile. "Is that what you had in mind for yours, _Lucas?_" Erik asked feigning innocence, turning, finally, to look the man directly in the eyes with his piercing blue gaze.

"You know," Lucas laughed nervously, "I'm not actually here as the Phantom-though I can see how you'd be confused, Rosie. I'm Zorro." He fumbled with the plastic sword on his side and used it to trace an awkward Z in the air, causing Rosalie to lean back in order to not be hit. "I, ah. . .I'll catch you two lovebirds later." He said, tipping the brim of his cowboy hat as he turned and sauntered back to his date, who was now quite annoyed.

Erik watched him go, shaking his head incredulously. "You really used to be involved with him?"

Rosalie could not suppress a giggle. "Don't remind me." she turned toward Erik and put one hand on his chest, using the other to sip her drink. "That was before I knew a real man was lurking in the shadows."

More like languishing, Erik thought, since truly that is what he had been doing before Rosalie had found him. He reached down and stole a quick, champagne flavored kiss. "I love you, Rosalie." he murmured. "I thank God that you found me."

Rosalie gazed in Erik's eyes, and melted. "I thank God for you too, Erik.

They were broken out of their reverie by a loud, shrill scream. "OH, you clumsy ox! Look what you've done?"

Erik and Rosalie turned towards the sound to see Ava Gentry, hands flailing in the air in front of her, berating a waiter who had, apparently, spilled her drink. On her long white gown was a red wine stain. "How am I supposed to be the Angel of Music looking like this?" She screamed at him again.

Erik leaned down and whispered to Rosalie, "I'd be more worried about how she's acting than how she looks."

Rahim rushed over to try to calmly soothe Miss Gentry, but she was having nothing of it. "Do not patronize me, you blithering idiot!" Rosalie felt Erik's hand tighten around hers. He was beginning to get angry. "Now I have to go change!" Gentry stormed off, muttering as she left, "What a low rate, classless opera house this is!"

"She would know nothing about having class." Erik muttered, shooting daggers at her across the room.

Rahim looked a little flustered, as the entire room appeared to be staring in his direction, but he simply called out, "A little music, please," as he patted the arm of the rattled waiter.

"I'm sorry he has to deal with her," Rosalie said, shaking her head.

"I knew we should have gotten rid of her." Erik commented, obviously agitated.

Rosalie recognized the beginning of particularly fun song that she enjoyed. "Come on, Phantom," she said, playfully, dragging him toward the dance floor, "They're playing this song just for you!"

The song they were playing was a modern dance tune that Erik didn't know. "Rosalie, I can't dance to this!" he protested, a little nervous. It was one thing to come dressed as himself to a costume ball in honor of the Phantom of the Opera. It was quite another thing to try to dance to modern music, when he was over 150 years old!

"Oh, sure you can, Erik," Rosalie gently coaxed. "You _are_ music. It makes no difference that this music is new to you. Your body and soul will understand."

To please her, Erik agreed to give it a try, but warned, "I just don't know what to do, Rose."

"Dancing is easy to this music." Rosalie promised. "Just, breathe through it, brighten your eyes, and approach the beat. . . from above," she joked, once again, using his own words against him. When she saw the look of apprehension remain in his eyes, she added, placing a calming hand on his chest, "Just _feel_ the music and move. With me."

They had reached the dance floor, and Rosalie held both Erik's hands in hers. She bopped rhythmically along with the music, pulling him closer to her and urging Erik with her eyes and smiles to do the same. He was a little stiff at first, but soon, he relaxed. Picking up the beat, he was able to match her rhythm. They turned and twisted on the dance floor, Erik mirroring Rosalie's every movement, his favorite being when she seductively shimmied her way down his chest and then back up again. Oh the sensations of their bodies shifting and gliding together! It was almost becoming too much, making Erik long to have Rosalie alone in his lair. But then the song was over, and the next one chosen by the DJ was a song that Erik knew very well.

Rosalie knew it too. "Oh Erik," she whispered excitedly, "It's your song."

"Belle Rose," he murmured gently, changing their position so that he was holding one of her hands in his, the other one resting on her waist. "Would you care to share a dance with the composer?"

Never breaking his gaze, Rosalie nodded, as she placed her other hand on his shoulder and held him close. As they tentatively began to move to the intoxicating strains of Music of the Night, Rosalie relished the feeling of being wrapped in Erik's arms. His arms encircled her so strongly, and he held her gaze intently with his eyes. The sensation was complete when Erik began to sing.

**Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation **

**Darkness stirs and wakes imagination **

**Silently the senses abandon their defenses **

Rosalie had abandoned any defenses she'd had against Erik long ago. She allowed herself to get completely lost in the hypnotic movement of the dance, as Erik gently turned her in lazy circles around the floor.

**Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor **

**Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender **

**Turn your face away from the garish light of day **

**Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light **

**And listen to the music of the night **

As Erik dipped her fluidly, Rosalie remembered the sensation she'd had of falling her first night in the lair. Erik's strong arms held her now, as he'd held her then-on the night that she knew now had changed the rest of her life.

**Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams**

**Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before**

**Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar**

**And you'll live as you've never lived before**

She DID close her eyes and let herself be drawn ever more deeply into Erik's song, his scent, his embrace. She thought she would weep as he floated up to the gentle pianissimo note near the end of the phrase.

**Softly, deftly, music shall caress you**

**Hear it, feel it secretly possess you**

**Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind**

**In this darkness that you know you cannot fight**

**The darkness of the music of the night**

She wanted him to possess her. His voice inspired passion in her like she'd never felt before. As he began the strong passage of the song, she felt her heart racing.

**Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world**

**Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before**

**Let your soul take you where you long to be**

**Only then can you belong to me**

At that moment, Rosalie did belong to him. She moved in even closer to him and realized that they were both trembling.

**Floating, falling, sweet intoxication**

**Touch me,** He gazed deeply into her eyes, as he drew her hand to rest above his heart.

**trust me, savor each sensation**

**Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in**

**To the power of the music that I write**

**The power of the music of the night**

They glided across the floor, his cape swirling around them both as they moved in circles to the music. Rosalie had an amazing sense of floating on air, as if the song itself had swept her away from the ball, away from the world around her and all that was left was Erik. Pressing tightly against her as he sang the last line, Erik wrapped her in the velvety softness of his voice and the fiery passion of his desire.

**You alone can make my song take flight**

**Help me make the music of the night**

Their eyes closed and their lips mingled as the last echoes of that final, enchanting plea faded. Their kiss deepened with a rapture neither had known before. "Oh, my beautiful rose," he whispered as the crowd around them burst into applause, thinking their dance had been part of the evening's entertainment. "My beautiful, beautiful rose. It is time that I steal you away."

Breathlessly, Rosalie answered, "Yes, Erik."

Erik reached down and lifted Rosalie up into his arms. Laughing, Rosalie protested, "Erik, I am quite capable of walking!'

"Ah, but Rose," Erik replied, "I am quite incapable of letting you go."

**Erik finally manages to have a wonderful time at a ball! So, what do you think of his plans for later in the evening, and his little chat with Rahim? Of the run in with Lucas, and Lucas's 'Phantom' costume? Of the dancing? Please review and let me know!**


	17. Chapter 17 A Starry Proposal

**So glad we all had fun at the ball! Now, Erik has a very important question for Rosalie!**

**Warning, there is a bit of smut light in this chapter. **

17. A Starry Proposal

Erik and Rosalie were wrapped in a passionate kiss. He had carried her out of the ball and up into Box 5, where tonight they climbed up the stairs instead of down. Now they stood before a closed door, and when they finally separated, Erik pushed the access way gently open to reveal a rooftop paradise.

Rosalie stared at the mesmerizing sight before her. Lit lanterns placed strategically around rooftop lent their glow to the stars in the sky and the Parisian city lights. There were more roses scattered about, and in the center of the floor, there stood a gauzy round canopy on a raised platform, with countless soft cushions underneath. Next to the platform was a bucket of ice holding a bottle of champagne, and a gold tray with chocolate covered strawberries.

"Oh, Erik," Rosalie exclaimed, "It's beautiful!"

"Not half as beautiful as you, my Love." he kissed her hand and led her to the canopy, pouring them each a glass of champagne. "To us, Rosalie." He toasted, raising his glass in the air.

"To us, Erik," Rosalie clinked glasses with his, her eyes shining as she added the word, "Forever."

As they sipped their champagne, Erik was reminded of why he had asked Rahim to arrange for this rooftop wonderland. He subtly brushed his hand over his waistcoat pocket and felt the tiny outline of the ring hidden away in there. Forever. He was suddenly struck by a wave of terror. Oh, God, would Rosalie think him insane for asking her to marry him? She said she loved him, but would she really be able to say yes to forever with him, if forever meant a life lived in the shadows with only brief stolen moments in the sun? He felt sick to his stomach at the thought that she might say no, and that he would be thrust back into that self made hell that only Rosalie made seem like heaven. But he felt even sicker by the notion that she would say yes, and by loving her, he would be depriving her of the kind of life she was meant to lead. Erik's hand began to shake, and he started coughing again, gently at first, but then a little harder, feeling, for a moment, breathless.

"Erik," Rosalie became concerned, rubbing her hand across his back. "Erik, are you all right?"

"Yes, Rosalie," he said, when he had regained his composure, "I'm ok. I think our little dip in the lake the other day" his mouth raised slightly at the memory of how they'd fallen out of his little boat, "may have given me a touch of a cold."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Rosalie said, sheepishly, remembering that it was her exuberance that dumped them into the water.

"No, my love," He reached out and stroked her cheek, "I'm not. It was an exhilarating experience. And I want to have so many more of them with you." He took her hand and sat them down on the cushions inside the canopy, Rosalie snuggling close to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Erik spent a moment just holding her in his arms, trying to think of how to say what he wanted to say next. "Belle Rose," he started, haltingly, "Do you. . ._often. . ._ think of forever?"

"Mmmmm," she murmured, trailing a finger along his chest, "I've thought of it a little lately." Suddenly, she felt shy. Was it too soon to be admitting such thoughts? "I hope that doesn't scare you. . .?"

"Oh, no, Rose." Erik gave her a reassuring squeeze, then turned to look directly in her eyes. "I just. . .doesn't it scare _you_? Even a little?"

Rosalie held his gaze, "No, Erik. Not at all," she asked perplexed. "Why?"

He took a deep breath, before asking quietly, "Can you imagine what forever with. . .me. . .would be like?"

Rosalie smiled to herself, blushing a little, before answering his question. "I imagine us laughing, with music and joy always surrounding us. I imagine holding hands and facing the world together. And I imagine love, always love, with every breath we take." She stretched her body upward against him, so that she could reach his lips with hers, kissing him deeply, but gently. "That is what I see as our forever," she whispered, her eyes glittering with love for him.

Erik felt his heart melt at her description of their future. "We would always, _always_ have love, Rosalie," Erik agreed. "Because even if I wanted to, I don't think I could ever stop loving you." He hugged her to him tightly, for a moment. Then he released her and reached out and turned her chin toward him, so he could look directly in her eyes. "But what if there is not so much joy as there is sorrow? This face of mine," he gestured to himself with his hand, "it has never been easy to live with. I have never been able to be out in public without facing ridicule and scorn, and even violence because of it." He gently stroked her cheek, as he continued, "Now I have you, and I have love, and it is the greatest gift I could ever have received. It is everything to me." He placed his hand on his chest for emphasis. "But what about you, Rose? You have no need to hide in the shadows. You're intelligent and you're talented, and you're so, _so_ beautiful. I firmly believe you could do anything you wanted to. Anything. But how are you going to be able to do that if you are with me?" Erik looked off into the distance, sorrow filling his eyes. "What if loving me drags you down into the shadows? What if holding my hand to face the world makes the world unwilling to face you?" He looked at her again, "I have no doubt that you love me Rose. Everything you do proves it. But is loving me really enough when you might have to give up the whole world to do so?"

Rosalie was a bit stunned by Erik's sudden fears. He looked so sad, so uncertain, and it broke her heart to see him that way. "Erik," she began softly, "Do you honestly think that you are the only one who has benefitted from our relationship?"

"I definitely think I have benefitted more." he answered honestly.

"Erik, I don't want to play a comparison game, but I was very lonely before I met you. It had always been me and my parents, but then I lost them. Yes, I did have friends and. . . dates, but I was also always a little. . . apart. There was no one person who truly understood me. I was never in love. I never felt that soul to soul-connection with another person. I had seen it in my parents-they definitely had it-and I always wanted it for myself. But after so many failed attempts, I just started to believe that my other half was not out there. I was starting to feel hollow."

Rosalie smiled now, and stroked his hand. "But then I found you, and this crazy, unbelievable situation we're in somehow seems to be the only thing in the world that makes sense. No one ever understood me the way you do-and you do it so effortlessly. You seem to know me like I know myself. When I am with you, I feel whole. I finally found my other half. "

Rosalie reached up and removed Erik's mask so that there was nothing separating her from the man she loved. "You once told me I was a miracle to you, Erik. Well, you've been a miracle to me too. You said that Death did not want you, and that was why you were still living after 100 years. But I like to think it's because God was saving you for me."

Erik closed his eyes against the tears that filled his eyes unbidden. He felt Rosalie pull him into her arms and hold him tightly. "You are my completion Erik." she whispered in his ear. "I would much rather be whole in the darkness than lost in the light."

Erik squeezed Rosalie tightly to him, once again, unable to believe that this beautiful, amazing woman chose to be in his life. "I love you, Rose," he whispered. "I love you with all my heart."

"And I love you with all of mine," she whispered back.

After a moment, Erik pulled back and away from her, saying, "There is one more thing, my beautiful, beautiful Rose." He shifted into a kneeling position in front of her and reached inside his waistcoat pocket, presenting her with the most exquisite ring Rosalie had ever seen. The thin gold band curved to look like a vine with leaves. The setting, encrusted with tiny rubies, resembled rose petals spread out in full bloom. The center rosebud was a stunning, shimmering diamond.

Rosalie was speechless as she stared at the ring in disbelief. "My Love," Erik began, his voice trembling slightly, "This rose's red will never fade, and white sparkling joy will be ever present at its center. It's strong stem, like my arms, will ever wrap around you, enclosing you in warmth, and sweetness, and music, and love-_so_ much love. Will you be my wife, Rosalie, so that we can start working on our forever?"

"Oh, yes, Erik!" Rosalie gasped, tears springing to her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck, and began kissing his face over and over again, "Yes, yes," she repeated between kisses, "Yes, yes, yes!"

Erik laughed, taking her left hand in his and placing the rose ring on her fourth finger. "My Rose, we will have our forever." He took her back into his embrace, "and it will be filled with music and joy and laughter, and so much love that it will take at least a lifetime to feel it all." Erik's lips claimed Rosalie's in a kiss overflowing with all the joy and love that he promised her. Though the evening was cool, heat flooded through Rosalie's body, as she suddenly had the feeling that she could not possibly hold him close enough. She tightened her arms around him, as her lips continued their fevered dance with his. She groaned as she felt his hands begin to wander across her body, tracing the curves of her breast, her waist, and her hip.

Rosalie only sighed, as she ran her hands down the smooth plane of his chest, feeling his warmth beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. She removed his tie and parted his collar to place kisses on his neck, and collar bone, and she unfastened his buttons as her lips yearned to traverse more of his chest. Erik hissed loudly, as her tongue flicked over his nipples, first one and then the other. He savored her own moan as he followed her lead and cupped her breast in his hand. Completely overcome by desire, Erik gently pushed Rosalie back against the cushions, positioning himself on top of her, cupping the back of her head to pull her mouth ever more tightly against his. Even fully clothed, their bodies fit together perfectly, and Erik could not help but wonder how much better it would be if the barrier of clothing were removed. As if reading his mind, Rosalie pushed his coat and shirt off of his shoulders, and ran her hands up his strong back, sending shivers of delight up his spine. He could feel their passions ever mounting, moving toward a symphonic crescendo that soon neither of them would have the will to control. He looked down at her with adoration, asking her huskily, "Truthfully, Rosalie, is this what you want?"

She placed her hands on his twisted cheek, and with love in her eyes, she told him, "I only want you, Erik. _All_ of you."

Erik crushed his lips to hers one more time, their sighs and caresses mingling with their desperate words of love. "You deserve a bed of roses, dear love," he murmured tenderly, trailing kisses down her throat, gently pulling the bodice of her dress lower to kiss the sweet swell of her breasts.

"I need only you," Rosalie promised, closing her eyes and running her fingers through his silken hair, clasping his head even closer to her breast.

"Rose," he purred, as he drank in the sweet scent of her hair, his fingers moving toward the zipper of her gown, " You know I have never done this before."

"Neither have I," Rosalie echoed, arching against him, as the wave of her pleasure grew. "We will figure it out together."

Erik kissed her again, in pure bliss at her words. "I adore you, Belle Rose."

Suddenly their euphoria was interrupted by the main roof door slamming open and a loud cry of despair.

"Erik! Erik, we're ruined!" Rahim called out, breathless from running up the stairs that led to the roof.

Instantly, Erik and Rosalie shot up, Rosalie helping Erik with his mask, while he reached for his shirt, throwing it on quickly, hoping that Rahim had a very good reason for interrupting them. He would truly hate to have to strangle his only friend.

"What is it, Rahim?" he asked in agitation, as he stalked over to him, still buttoning his shirt, which hung loosely out of his pants.

Rahim stared at Erik's state of disarray in shock. "OH, Erik, I'm sorry," He began to apologize awkwardly, finally finding the sense to look away. "I forgot what your plans were for tonight. . ." Erik glared at him, ". . .Not that your plans were to ravish Miss Daniels," Erik glared even harder, "Not that you were ravishing. . ."  
"Rahim!" Erik said his name sharply, wondering to himself if he should perhaps start carrying his lasso around at all times again. "What has happened?"

Rosalie arrived at Erik's side at that moment, her gown a little crooked, her hair a bit disheveled, and her lips swollen, lipstick smeared. Rahim tried to avert his eyes and opened his mouth to answer Erik's question, but he noticed a flash of light from the ring now resting on her left hand. Rahim's face broke out into a smile, "Oh, Miss Daniels, you said yes!"

Rosalie smiled and nodded, holding her ring out for him to see. "I did, Mr. Bellamy."

"Oh, I am so happy for you, dear. Congratulations!" He squeezed her hand warmly, then turned to Erik to offer a congratulatory handshake. He was brought up short by the daggers shooting out of Erik's eyes. "What. Happened?" Erik hissed, at the absolute end of the small amount of patience he had initially possessed.

"Yes, well," Rahim began, clearing his throat. "It's Ms Gentry, you see," he began to wring his hands, remembering once again the dire state his opera house was in. "She came back to the party very inebriated. She insisted that she would sing a song to entertain the crowd, since she had heard some of the guests raving about the 'musical number,' that had happened on the dance floor while she was changing. She was almost up to the balcony between the staircases, when she managed to fall down the stairs. She's in the hospital right now. She's got a concussion, and they think her leg is broken!"

Rosalie gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "Oh no!"

"And I wasn't even there to see it. . . " Erik muttered irritably.

"This is not a joking matter, Erik!" Rahim responded miserably. "The gala is tomorrow night! What are we going to do? "

"You should have gotten rid of her at the outset!" Erik growled. "I told you she wasn't right for the part!"

"Yes," Rahim agreed, looking at Erik, his voice rising in frustration. "But it was not as simple as it sounds. She was under contract! And it's not like we had a willing replacement waiting in the wings."

Rosalie began to feel a tightness in her chest, knowing that she had the ability to help Mr. Bellamy, but unsure if she could actually make herself do it.

"Yes, I know." Erik began pacing the rooftop, raking his hand through his hair in irritation. "Isn't there an understudy?"

Rahim looked even more miserable, "No, Ms. Gentry insisted she wouldn't need one. She prided herself on never needing a replacement. None of the other actresses who have portrayed Christine are immediately available." Rahim's voice reached a fevered pitch "Oh, Erik, I think we're going to have to cancel the gala." He took a deep, shuddering breath, "I'm actually going to have to cancel. I haven't canceled a performance in. . ." he looked at Erik "ever." He buried his head in his hands, looking absolutely hopeless. "This is such an embarrassment!"

Rosalie looked at Mr. Bellamy, so upset and dejected. Then she looked at Erik who seemed very tense, very agitated. He would not, it seemed, look at her. Neither of them were going to ask her, she realized. Erik would not want to insert the delicate topic of Christine back into their relationship, and Mr. Bellamy respected Erik too much to do anything counter to his wishes.

Singing the role of Christine had once been her greatest dream. She knew every song by heart, had studied every nuance played on the stage. But now that she knew Christine was real, and how badly she had hurt her Erik, the idea of personifying her disgusted Rosalie. To betray the character of the man she loved on stage? To leave him languishing in pain, in favor of another, especially knowing what happened after the real Christine left? It all felt too close to home-too real to act out for an audience's pleasure. And yet, Erik had wanted her to take the role. He had wanted her to sing that music-_his_ music. She had refused him once, but now, if she refused, Mr. Bellamy would have to cancel the gala. After all the work he-and she-had put into it, it didn't seem right. She was going to have to be strong and do this, for the boss she admired and for the man she adored. She closed her eyes took a deep breath and said, quietly, "I'll do it."

Erik and Rahim both looked at her at the same time.

"What was that?" Rahim asked, confused.

"What are you saying, Rosalie?" Erik asked, his eyes absolutely glowing.

"I'm saying that I'll do it. I'll stand in for Ava Gentry." She turned to Rahim. "That is, if you would have me, Mr. Bellamy."

Rahim's eyes were filled with disbelief and gratitude, "You would do that, Miss Daniels?"

"If you want it, yes." she sheepishly said, looking over to Erik. He was watching her silently, his right hand resting on his chin, a strange emotion in his eyes.

"Oh, of course, Miss Daniels." Rahim said, kindness in his eyes. "You have the voice of an angel. You will do a wonderful job filling Christine's shoes." He grabbed her hand again and shook it vigorously with excitement. "You have saved me, Miss Daniels. Absolutely saved me!"

"She has a habit of doing that," Erik said, from where he stood off to the side. That same unreadable emotion was in his eyes, and Rosalie wasn't exactly certain what he was feeling about this development, but she noticed that the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

"OK," Rahim said, steadying himself. "OK. I need to get back downstairs and tell the cast things are going to proceed after all." he walked over to the staircase, turning one last time before he went, "Thank you again, Miss Daniels. And, congratulations to you both." He smiled at them one final time before beginning the walk back to the foyer.

Erik looked at her another moment with that strange expression on his face. "What?" Rosalie demanded, dying to know what was on his mind.

"I'm just. . .so _damned_ proud of you." Erik said, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and awe. "I know you didn't want to do this."

Rosalie nodded, "I'm still a little nervous."

"About what, my love?" Erik walked over to her and placed his hand on her cheek. "That music was written for a voice like yours. You will be exquisite on the stage."

Rosalie swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "Thank you, Erik. It's not the music that makes me nervous. I just. . ." she took a deep breath. "I don't know how I am going to act the parts where she betrays you-where she pulls off your mask and calls you a monster, and then leaves you to the mob. . ." Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head, trailing off.

A look of tenderness filled Erik's eyes. "It's just a role, Rosalie." He said sweetly, taking her left hand in his."Remember that while you're on stage acting out Christine's betrayal, I'll be holding _your_ choices in my heart." He placed a gentle kiss to the palm of her hand, just above her engagement ring.  
Rosalie nodded her head, and moved into his embrace, resting her head upon his strong, comforting chest.

"Are you going to be ok, Rosalie?" Erik asked her, placing sweet, tiny kisses along her hairline.

"I have to be, Erik." Rosalie sighed. "Mr. Bellamy needs me."

Erik nodded his head. "And. . .about Christine?"

Rosalie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling it fully before answering. "Erik, if you've put that old ghost to rest, then so should I, right?"

"I _have_ put her to rest, you know." Erik's eyes now filled with an overwhelming amount of love. "Christine was my past, but you, Rosalie, _you_ are my forever."

Rosalie threw her arms around his neck, as he tightened his arms around her back. "I love you, Erik," She whispered.

"I know," he whispered back. "I know, Belle Rose. I know! And I love you too. So much." Erik cherished the feeling of her body in his arms, as he held her tenderly in the moonlight, watching the stars as they glowed in the sky. As he beheld their distant light, he thought briefly of Christine. He hoped sincerely that in her life she had been able to feel even a fraction of the happiness that he felt right now, as he held his beautiful, perfect living rose in his arms.

**So. . .Wanna see Rosalie's ring? If you google lotus diamond etsy ring and click on the first page, and then the first listing, that would be it-only with rubies and gold too-not just diamonds. **

**So, what did you think of today's developments?**


	18. Chapter 18 The Gala Night

**Happy Fourth, to all my readers who are celebrating today!**

**Welcome, honored guests, to the Gala Performance! Take your seats and get ready for the performance of a lifetime!**

18. The Gala Night

Rosalie looked at her reflection in her dressing room mirror. She was wearing the heavy make up and the long curly brown wig that Christines worldwide wear for productions of Phantom. She was dressed in the colorful slave girl outfit that she would wear for the first scene. There had been an emergency dress rehearsal that morning. Confusion and nerves were palpable among the cast, but they all seemed to fade away, the more Rosalie sang. Her gracious spirit went a long way to help her fit into the cast as seamlessly as Erik and Mr. Bellamy told her she would. By the end of rehearsal, she'd been congratulated and thanked by all her fellow actors for agreeing to step in and help when unforeseen circumstances had prevented Ava Gentry from performing her duties. Still, she felt so nervous. She was going to be on stage at the Paris Opera House, fulfilling her childhood dream of singing the role of Christine Daae. Regardless of how she felt about the real Christine, this was still a pretty big deal! She hoped that she _would_ be able to do the role justice and sing Erik's music the way it was meant to be sung. She wanted so badly to make him proud.

She heard a knock on her dressing room door and called "Come in."

The door opened and Rosalie was surprised to see Lucas walking in, carrying a bouquet of flowers. "Hi Rosie," he said, sheepishly. He held out the flowers to her. "These are for you."

Rosalie rose from her dressing table to take the little bouquet of mixed wildflowers from Lucas. "Lucas, thank you." she said surprised.

"I just wanted to come by and say good luck." he said, looking down. "I always told you that you should be singing instead of pushing papers around a desk."

Rosalie chuckled a little, remembering that he _had_ mentioned that a few times in their brief relationship. "Thanks," she said.

"Listen, ah, Rosie," Lucas began, looking away from her again, scratching his fingers through his hair, "I. . . uh. . . also wanted to say. . . I'm sorry."

Rosalie narrowed her eyes in confusion. "What? For what?"

"I'm sorry for a lot of things." he said, finally looking at her sheepishly. "I'm sorry I always teased you about the Phantom back when we were dating-I guess I _still_ don't really understand why you took it so seriously, but here you are, about to perform it on stage at a moment's notice, so I guess it's a good thing you did, huh?"

Rosalie nodded quietly as Lucas went on. "And I'm sorry that I've been kind of a jerk the last few times I've seen you. I had expected you to come running back to me after we broke up, but when you didn't I. . .uh. . .came to realize that" he exhaled a large, loud breath, "I was an idiot for letting you go in the first place." He looked at her with sincerity in his eyes, "I had been hoping that I could get you back somehow."

Rosalie was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. "Lucas. . ." she began.

"No, no," he said, lifting his hands to stop her from interrupting, "Listen, I know now it's never gonna happen. I mean, last night, I saw you and your Erik together. It's obvious that you two are close. It's pretty clear that he listens to you, and he gets things right that I never could," he gave her another sheepish smile. "So, I'm happy for you."

Rosalie smiled, "Thanks, Lucas."

He opened his arms out to her, "Can I give you a hug for old time's sake?" he chuckled to himself, "I promise, I won't try anything."

Rosalie sighed with a smile, and lifted her arms to hug him back, when he noticed the ring on her left hand.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, taking her hand in his to examine the ring more closely. "You're getting married?"

Rosalie smiled and nodded. "Erik asked me last night, after the ball."

"But so soon?" Lucas asked in surprise. "I thought you liked taking things slow."

Rosalie lifted her shoulders in a shrug, "I love him. I see no reason to wait"

"Wow." Lucas nodded his head awkwardly, "Well, I guess even more congratulations are in order then."

Rosalie smiled again. "Thanks Lucas."

Lucas looked at her a moment more, and then said, "Well, I gotta go. Um. . .I would say break a leg, but considering what happened to the last Christine. . ."

Rosalie actually laughed out loud at that, "Yeah, that's ok."

"All right, bye." he gave a little wave and ducked out of her dressing room.

Rosalie began to look around the room to see if there was anything she could put the flowers in when right next to her ear, she heard the voice of her fiance.

"_Insolent boy_, this slave of fashion. Basking in your glory. _Ignorant fool_, this brave young suitor. Sharing in my triumph!"

Rosalie once again laughed out loud. "Come out of the shadows, Phantom, and kiss me for good luck!" she called to the air around her.

The full length mirror in Rosalie's room began to shift aside, and there was her Erik, tall and dashing in his formal evening wear, standing in the frame. She ran to him as he stepped across the threshold and threw her arms around him. "Do you know how long I've dreamt about a sexy, masked man walking through my full length mirror?" she asked, laughing.

"I'll try to find one for you," he responded, kissing her lips fully and deeply.

"Very funny!" Rosalie giggled, when he let her up for air.

"So Lucas seemed a bit too friendly." Erik said, raising an eyebrow. "Do I have to _deal_ with him?"

"NO! He was only coming by to wish me luck." Rosalie smiled at him, "AND to congratulate us on our engagement!"

Erik smiled, "I heard what he said about that. He was rather complimentary."

"Yes, he was." Rosalie agreed. "I guess meeting up with the Phantom last night at the ball taught him a few things."

"Perhaps." Erik shrugged, dismissing Lucas from his mind in an instant. Erik stepped back a little so that he could get a good look at her. "Belle Rose, you are a vision."

She chuckled a little to herself, the nerves starting to return. "As beautiful as Christine?" she asked.

"No," Erik whispered, stroking her cheek. "More. Much, much more."

Rosalie gave him a grateful look, and then admitted, "Erik, I'm so nervous."

"You needn't be, love." he reassured her tenderly. "You will be wonderful."

"But what if I'm not?" She asked, stepping away from him and beginning to pace her dressing room floor. "What if I can't fill Christine's shoes, as Mr. Bellamy said."

Erik shook his head, "Do not fear that, Rosalie. You will surpass her. You were made to sing on the Opera Stage!"

"I only ever cared about singing to you, Erik." Rosalie looked at him with uneasy eyes.

"Then sing to me." Erik urged, placing his hands on her shoulders, his eyes glowing with icy fire. "I will be there with you-the whole time. Let the others fade away and sing to me, Rose. _For_ me. Bring my music to life with that voice from heaven. And know that the whole time, I will be watching, I will be listening, and I will be so, so proud to say that my future bride is on that stage doing what she was born to do."

"That's not the only thing I was born to do, Erik." Rosalie's eyes shone with his praise, "I was also born to love you."

"And you do that exceedingly well!" His lips found hers in a reassuring kiss. "I love you, Rosalie. And I cannot wait to see you triumphant on the stage tonight."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rosalie stood off to the side of the stage as Carlotta berated the managers named Firman and Andre'. The ghost had been naughty again, and dropped the scenery on the Spanish born Diva. "These things do happen," the managers tried to placate. "Si, these things _do_ happen," the diva agreed. "Well, until you stop these things happening, _this_ thing _does not_ happen!"

"Christine Daae could sing it sir. . ."

Rosalie heard the words that were her cue to come forward, and she stepped to the front of the stage. As the music began, she looked out at the view before her. She remembered the day she had sung this song alone on the stage-the sea of red and gold had been exciting and inspiring, and she had sung with her whole heart, imagining what it would be like if the theater had been full. Tonight the view had changed, and she no longer had to rely on her imagination. The sea of red and gold was littered with a rainbow of faces all watching, all waiting for her to begin. The chandelier, which had been off that day, now blinded her with its brilliance. Where before, silence had urged her on, tonight the low hum of the crowd before her seemed to crush the breath from her lungs. She realized she was not going to be able to do this. Her nerves were paralyzing. She was going to let Erik and Mr. Bellamy down.

All of a sudden, she heard a whisper quietly in her ear. "Sing, my beautiful Rose. Sing for me!" and she knew Erik was there. His familiar electricity surrounded her, and gave her the strength to open her mouth and let her voice soar. When, at the end of the song, she heard his familiar, "Bravi, bravi, bravissimi," ring in her ears, she knew that he too was recalling that first night when she had sung to the darkness and summoned a phantom.

The first act continued, without incident. Rosalie sang her finest, and it was apparent to no one that she was a stand in for the intended star of the show. She played effortlessly off her co-stars, keeping Erik's happy smile always in the forefront of her mind. She found that when she thought of him, the rest of the audience slipped away, and she could dream that she was singing only for him.

Though the unmasking scene was a challenge, she remembered the look of joy and disbelief on Erik's face when she kissed him the first time she had seen him without his mask. When she sang "All I Ask of You" with the actor who played Raoul, she fantasized about taking her vows with Erik, promising to love him forever. Each song she sang took on a new meaning, as she sang for the man she loved, and the longer the gala continued, the more she realized she was having the time of her life!

Before she knew it, it was time for Point of No Return. It was the moment in the musical that she most dreaded-the lead up to Christine's final deception. The thought of betraying the Phantom in front of the entire audience-the knowledge of what had actually happened to her Erik-it was going to be the hardest part of the musical for her to get through.

Rosalie was dressed in the frilly orange and black dress of Aminta, as she sashayed across the stage and sat down at the dining table, never betraying the trepidations she felt about the upcoming scene. She took an apple in her hand and pretended she was about to take a bite, when she heard,

**Passarino - Go away for the trap it is set and waits for its prey. **

Rosalie turned with a start, at the shadowy figure who was walking toward her slowly. It was Erik! Somehow, he had replaced the regular Phantom, and he was on stage with her to sing this song-just as he had been with Christine, years ago. Was it because he felt her apprehension and wanted to be there with her, to ease the difficulty? She did not know, but when she heard him begin to sing, she was lost in the magic of his music.

**You have come here **

**In pursuit of your deepest urge **

**In pursuit of that wish which till now **

**Has been silent **

**Silent. **

The rehearsed choreography for the song was tossed out, as he approached her, slowly, stealthily, like a tiger stalking its prey. He placed his finger on her lips, to emphasize the word silent.

**I have brought you **

**That our passions may fuse and merge **

He pulled her up to stand before him, their bodies a hair away from touching.

**In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses **

**Completely succumbed to me **

He traced his hands over her face, and down her arms, taking her hands finally in his, and twisting her so that her back was against his, his arms around her waist.

**Now you are here with me **

**No second thoughts **

**You've decided **

He rubbed his cheek against hers, as he sang, intoxicating her with his nearness.

**Decided**.

He released his hold on her, leaving her obviously breathless and trembling, as he walked a small distance away from her, singing.

**Past the point of no return **

**No backward glances **He came around the front of her and held her with the power of his gaze

**The games we've played 'til now are at an end. **

He circled behind her again, her gaze twisting to follow him, as she leaned back against his chest while he sang over her shoulder,

**Past all thought of "if" or "when" **

**No use resisting **

**Abandon thought and let the dream descend **

He grasped her left hand with his right and turned her to face him, clasping her to him with an arm around her waist. He stared intently at her, as he sang, his eyes aglow with passion.

**What raging fire shall flood the soul **

**What rich desire unlocks its door **

Rosalie reached out a finger and dragged it down his face, slipping it slightly in his mouth, as she trailed it down to his chin.

**What sweet seduction lies before us? **

Erik leaned forward until their lips were merely a breath away, as he sang,

**Past the point of no return **

**The final threshold **

**What warm unspoken secrets **

**Will we learn **

**Beyond the point of no return? **He dipped his head lower as if to steal a kiss. Rosalie stayed in position with him until the last possible second, before tearing away from him and singing,

**You have brought me **She placed her hand to her throat, trailing her fingers down to her chest

**To that moment when words run dry **

**To that moment when speech disappears **

**Into silence **

**Silence. **Rosalie reached out to him and mimicked his motions, placing her fingers on his lips to quiet any imagined protests as she turned away from him and moved across the stage.

**I have come here, **

**Hardly knowing the reason why **

**In my mind I've already imagined **

Rosalie ran her hands through her own hair, closing her eyes and slowly throwing her head back, to emphasize the fantasies in her mind.

**Our bodies entwining **

**Defenseless and silent, **

She turned to face him and looked straight at him, as she approached him slowly,

**Now I am here with you **

**No second thoughts **

**I've decided** She put one hand on his chest as she entwined the fingers of her other hand with his,

**Decided. **

**Past the point of no return **

**No going back now **as Rosalie pretended to turn away, Erik used their clasped hands to pull her back to him

**Our passion-play has now at last begun. **

**Past all thought of right or wrong **

**One final question **He brought her up close to him, their bodies touching as she sang the next line,

**How long should we two wait before we're one? **

Rosalie and Erik began to circle one another, the audience captivated, as they wove their tale of infatuation and desire for the entire room to see.

**When will the blood begin to race **

**The sleeping bud burst into bloom **Rosalie let her head fall back as Erik grazed his hands up and down her sides

**When will the flames at last consume us? **

The two faced one another, in a sultry dance of seduction, as their voices entwined with one another in their wanton duet.

**Past the point of no return **

**The final threshold **

**The bridge is crossed**

**So stand and watch it burn **

Erik reached around and pulled her chin toward him as they sang the final line together, their voices mingling in perfect harmony.

**We've passed the point of no return. **

It was at this moment in the choreography that Christine was supposed to pull back the Phantom's cowl, revealing his masked face before the crowd. As Rosalie pulled the hood back from Erik, she saw the dual lights of love and pride shining back at her. With tenderness coming over his face, Erik gazed only at her, cupping a hand to her cheek as he sang,

**Say you'll share with me **

**One love, one lifetime **

**Lead me, save me from my solitude **

**Say you want me **

**With you here **

**Beside you **

**Anywhere you go **

**Let me go too **

Completely breaking with the script, Erik reached into his cloak, and produced a perfect red rose, handing it to her

**Belle Rose, that's all I ask of you**

This was the moment when she was supposed to pull off his mask, and betray the man she loved to all who were gathered before them, but Erik's lips claimed Rosalie's in a deep, loving kiss instead-the true way that song was always supposed to end. It was the culmination of the love and desire Erik had felt when writing that song-a song he thought he had written for Christine, but one which only truly had life and meaning after Rosalie had sung it. Locked in her embrace, he remembered how this song had initially prompted him to send his mysterious visitor away, convinced he had to cling to the pain of his unrequited love for Christine forever. He marveled once again at how Rosalie had changed his life, helping him to let go of the suffering to which he had always clung. He realized at that moment, that every one of his dreams had finally come true. He had the woman he loved, and her promise of forever. She had _chosen_ him before the world. Even his music had finally been allowed to take flight and soar to the heavens, carried on the wings of Rosalie's exquisite voice. In that one single moment, he had life as he'd always wanted it-as he'd _written_ it all those years ago.

Rosalie released him from her embrace when she felt the first spasms of his cough. It was deep and low, and it seemed to wrack his whole body with a violence she had not seen before. "Erik?" she whispered, as he continued to shake, his body jerking in turmoil, as he collapsed to his knees. "Erik!" She shrieked now, lowering herself with him as he continued to fall. She placed her hand behind his head to protect it from the hard floor of the stage, as he fell backward, still spasming, tiny flecks of red appearing on his lips. As he began to wheeze, Rosalie tore his mask away to open up his airways, and she screamed for help. Tears were flowing down her cheeks now, as she repeated his name over and over again, begging him to stay with her, to be all right. When the medics finally made it onto the stage, after what seemed like forever, but was really only a few minutes, Mr. Bellamy had to tear Rosalie away from him, holding her soothingly in his arms, as the medics worked to help Erik breathe. They quickly loaded him onto the stretcher, and Rosalie saw him look her way, reaching out a weak hand in her direction, rasping a dry, cracked, "Rose. . ." before they placed the oxygen mask on him, and carried him from the stage. Rosalie sobbed loudly, and hid her head in Mr. Bellamy's chest, when she noticed the rose he had given her crushed and mangled on the floor in the place where her beloved had fallen.

**OK, so yes, this is where you begin to hate me. I'm sorry. You _had_ to know some trouble was coming. The next few chapters are very rough-but I promise, they will be worth it, and there is happiness at the end. **

**Anyway, please review. **


	19. Chapter 19 An Unwelcome Return

**Hi again: Well, Erik was blissfully happy for a while-which is exactly where Death wanted him. I will warn you, we have some rough chapters ahead. But have faith. I love happy endings!**

19. An Unwelcome Return

Rosalie listened to the soft hiss and whirr of the oxygen machine. Erik was sleeping comfortably now, his leather mask having been replaced with one of clear plastic, that was attached to tubes that were supposed to help him breathe. His Don Juan costume had been replaced with a hospital gown, and his normally slicked back hair hung loosely tousled over his forehead.

Rosalie sat, hunched over in the leather chair, with an untouched cup of coffee in her hands, staring ahead of her, but not seeing, focusing only on the sound. Hiss and whirr. Hiss and whirr. For hours, she and Mr. Bellamy had waited in the waiting room, while the doctors had regulated Erik's breathing and stopped his cough, then ran test after test to find the cause of the violent attack. He'd told her he'd had a touch of a cold. But there'd been blood on his lips, and he had collapsed on stage. She knew this was no cold. She'd known it as she'd knelt beside him, cradling his head, willing him to breathe. She'd marveled at how a man who had just sung so passionately, so _perfectly_, had moments later not even been able to get enough air into his lungs to take a breath. She had been terrified, _horrified_.

But now she was just numb.

Eventually, Mr. Bellamy had had to return to the opera house. There was too much turmoil for him not to be there. He'd begged her to let him take her home so she could rest, but she refused to go. She could not leave Erik. She would never leave. So he had gone, and Rosalie had stayed behind.

When she was finally allowed to see him, the moment had been surreal. Erik-_her Erik_-who had always been so strong and imposing, had looked so thin and frail lying in the bed. His deformity, which he'd always been so careful to guard, was now on full display, only his nose and his lips hidden by the oxygen mask which hissed and whirred the breath into his lungs. She had stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, and asked the nurses what was wrong. "Tests," they'd said. "We have to wait on the results," they'd informed her. Then they'd squeezed her hand and left her alone with him in the room, but not before staring at her a moment longer, as if trying to figure out how someone as young and "normal" as she could be connected to someone as deformed and ill as Erik.

So she sat and listened to the hiss and whirr, hiss and whirr doing the job that Erik's lungs were too weak to do on their own. Of all the things she had experienced in the time since she'd met Erik, this seemed the most unreal, the most unfair. The world had forgotten him for over 100 years. Why must it remember him now, when they were just about to get started on their forever?

"Rose. . ."

Rosalie looked up to see that Erik had woken and moved his oxygen mask aside. Rosalie ran over to him and took his hand in hers, kissing it tenderly. "Erik," she whispered, "You need to keep that mask on."

"Now you _want_ me to wear a mask!" He commented weakly, his voice scratchy and hoarse.

Rosalie smiled at his attempt at a joke. "This one's helping you breathe," she reached out to replace it.

"A moment, Rose." he begged in a whisper.

Rosalie sighed and relented, only for a moment. "How are you feeling, Erik?" she asked him, stroking his hair.

"I feel sore," he admitted, shifting in the bed, "And my throat hurts like hell."

It pained her to hear him speak of his discomfort. "I'm sorry, my love," she continued stroking his hair, playing with a few locks between her fingers, "Just rest."

"Rosalie. . .I'm sorry about ruining the gala." Erik rasped out, pitifully.

"Oh, please, Erik, don't even worry about that." She kissed his forehead. "I don't care about the gala one bit right now."

"But it was. . ." he struggled to take in a breath, "your night to shine."

"Erik, if you keep wasting your breath on drivel like that, I'm putting the oxygen mask back on!" she scolded him, reaching for the mask to emphasize her point.

Erik chuckled a little, and squeezed her hand. "I'm glad you're here Rose."

"Where else would I be but with you, Erik ? I love you." She stroked his cheek tenderly, with her other hand and smiled.

"I love you, Rose," He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. "You made me so. . .proud tonight." He began to cough a little, and Rosalie immediately placed the oxygen mask back on his face.

"You need to keep this on again, Erik." she told him sternly. "Now go back to sleep. I won't leave you. I'll be right here when you wake." She kissed his forehead and stroked his hair until he fell asleep.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Erik awoke with a start. Rosalie had pulled her chair over to the side of the bed and was now asleep, still holding his hand. He watched her as she rested, twisted in an awkward position, and was touched by her show of loyalty and love. She should have gone home to get some rest, and yet she was here, hemmed into what was probably a very uncomfortable chair, just so that he didn't have to wake up alone. He felt he was truly the luckiest man alive to have this woman in his life. She had taught him more about love in the brief time that he had known her, than he had ever learned in his century and a half of existence that had come before her. He would never stop thinking of her as his miracle.

As he gazed at her with adoration in his eyes, a cold chill alerted him that they were not alone. Erik heard a spectral laughter coming from the door, and he turned to see the Angel of Death, with his dark robe and his scythe, looming over him, the sickly red glow emanating once more from beneath his eerie cowl.

"Good evening, Angel," said the ghostly voice Erik remembered far too well.  
A cold fear gripped him. Not now, no please, not now. Erik removed the oxygen mask. "You're back." He said, his voice sounding parched and cracked.

"I told you I'd be back when love had found you." Death said, looking over at Rosalie, who still clung to his hand in her sleep. "Obviously, the time is right. You finally have a life, Erik. It is time to claim what belongs to me." Death drifted over to where Rosalie continued to slumber. He put a bony finger out to lift a lock of her hair. "What a beautiful little rose you've picked here, Angel."

"Don't touch her!" Erik warned, lifting himself into a sitting position, but sending himself into a violent coughing fit by doing so.

"Such a shame," Death rasped, as he trailed his finger down her arm, making her shudder a bit in her sleep, "That like all flowers met with poison she too will wither and fade away."

"Your quarrel is with me, Death!" Erik spat, his eyes desperate. "Leave her out of this!"

"That is true, Angel." Death concurred, his voice dripping with derision and scorn, "I _am_ here for you. And yet, what do you think would happen to your _Rose_, if she were to wake and find you dead, as you should have been for over 100 years? Would she be able to go on and continue her life, as she was before you? Would she be able to live without you? Or would she languish, ache and waste away as you once did? Even now, in her sleep, she reaches out to her Angel. What would she do if you were not there? What do you think, Angel?"

Erik looked at Rosalie's sleeping form-tucked uncomfortably into a hard chair, yet so peaceful because she could still touch his hand. He knew her heart was absolute, so unconditional in her love for him. He knew for certain that there could be nothing that would sway her devotion to him, just as nothing could alter his devotion to her. They were so very much alike, his Rose and himself-like two halves of the same soul. And he knew in that moment that his well deserved death would claim two victims. His absence would destroy her, just as Christine's absence had destroyed him for over 100 years.

Suddenly, Erik felt a panic like he had not known since that treacherous night when he was betrayed on the Opera stage. "Please," he begged. "Please don't take me."

Death laughed, the sound booming through Erik's veins and pounding in his ears. "Oh, Angel, has 150 years not been enough? I have been merciful with you for far too long."

"There has been no mercy, and you know it!" Erik countered, anger seeping into his voice. "Your only aim was to torture me throughout eternity, never to give me the respite that dying would hold. But Rosalie-she saved me. She _loves_ me. And whatever hold you have over me-whatever debt I owe you, Death-you have no right to claim two victims!"

"She made herself a victim when she chose to love the Devil's Child," Death hissed, rounding on Erik ominously. "It is a sin to cavort with the spawn of Satan!"

"Her love is no sin!" Erik asserted, his eyes glowing, feeling a strength in his veins, despite his body's weakened condition. "It is pure, and it is true, and it is light. She is one of the most perfect creatures ever made-and you have no hold over her."

"I have hold over all." Death bellowed, looming tall and foreboding over Erik. "Besides, it is not my hold over her that will destroy her-it is _yours. _Did your mother never tell you that you would poison all you touch, 'Angel?'"

Erik looked directly into the red glow exuding from Death's robe. "I am _Erik_!" he snarled, leaning forward to make his point. "I am no angel. I am but a man. But I am the man she loves-" his voice weakened now, from exertion and sorrow, and he fell back into the bed. "If I must leave her and accompany you to hell, I beg you, give me time to say goodbye." He gazed again at Rosalie's beautiful face. "I love her." he said, near tears, "Out of a lifetime of doing wrong, she is my one right thing. Please, just let me say goodbye."

Death looked at Erik as if considering. "You realize that by asking for this time to say goodbye, you are sentencing your 'Rose' to watch her lover waste away. Would not a quick departure be kinder to her?"

Erik felt his breathing become labored and his heart start to pound. He knew he would be in for an abundance of pain if he were to convince 'Death' to take him slowly. But as he looked at his Belle Rose he knew one thing as truth. "I cannot just leave her," he begged, tears rolling down his cheek. "Please, just a little more time."

"Your wish is my command, _Erik,_" Death made to leave the room. "You will have a little more time to tend to your rose. But just remember," he turned to face Erik, removing his cowl, so that the blaze from his eye holes could not be missed. His spectral laugh bubbled up once more, as he whispered, "Your touch is poison."

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Good morning, Sunshine!" Rosalie smiled, as she saw Erik's eyes flutter open. Her back was killing her from sleeping in that chair, and she felt tired and unrested, but she had been so worried about him that it made her heart sing to see him open his eyes. That icy blue gaze had never seemed so beautiful. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. The oxygen mask prevented Erik from speaking, but he reached out and took her hand, placing it on his heart. "I love you too." She said, kissing him again.

"Mr. and Mrs. Destler," the door opened and Erik's doctor walked in. Rosalie was about to correct him, but Erik squeezed her hand and subtly shook his head. He'd liked the way it had sounded. The doctor walked over and shook their hands, quickly took Erik's vitals, and then removed Erik's oxygen mask, so that they could talk.

"I've received the results of the tests we did last night," the doctor began gently, pulling over an extra chair, so that he could sit while he discussed the results with them. "Mr. Destler, you are suffering from a rare form of cancer-it's origin is in your lungs and your throat. . ."  
Rosalie's heart stopped. Did the doctor just say Erik had cancer? Of the lungs and throat? How could this be? Rosalie tried to listen to what the doctor was saying, but the words came in bits and phrases, not really making much sense.

". . .spread to other organs. . .Stage 4. . .inoperable. . .not much we can do. . .I'm sorry."

Rosalie saw the doctor give a sad nod, then rise and leave the room. She was aware of nothing except for the blood rushing in her head, and Erik's eyes looking at her, watching her, squeezing her hand. "Rose?" Erik called to her. "Rose, come here." Erik held his arms out to her.

Rosalie collapsed into Erik's arms, still unable to process what she had just heard. She felt him wrap his arms around her, and gently stroke her hair. What _had_ the doctor just said? Was her Erik _dying_?

"Erik," she asked, looking at him. Worry and fear filled his ice blue eyes. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to love each other, Rose," Erik told her firmly, "We're going to love each other for the time we have left."

"I'll love you forever, Erik, but we have to do more than that." Rosalie asserted, "There's chemo and radiation, and . . ."

"Rosalie," Erik said, calmly, "the doctor said it was too late for that."

"NO, Erik!" Rosalie stood suddenly, raising her voice at him. "It cannot be too late! I cannot lose you!" She ran her hands through her hair, as she paced the floor.

Erik was reminded in that moment just how like him his Rosalie was. She was desperately trying to come up with ways to fix this, denying the truth that lay before her. He knew that was her way of coping with a situation that was too hard, to horrible to bear. "Rose," he called to her, reaching his hand out for her to join him. She knelt down by his side, and looked once again in his beautiful eyes, and the tears she had been fighting with all her strength finally came.

**OK, so I told you it was a rough chapter. We have a couple more to get through. Please review. **

**Just remember, I love happy endings. **


	20. Chapter 20 Mr Bellamy's Surprise

**OK, my dear readers. I know yesterday's chapter was rough. Today I have decided to post two chapters-both also pretty sad. I promise you, there is a reason for the sadness, but there is also a resolution-which you will get tomorrow. There's also a bit of sweetness at the end of this chapter, which I hope you enjoy. **

20. Mr. Bellamy's Surprise

Rosalie braced herself on the kitchen table, her arms out in front of her, her head hanging low. She was brewing a pot of tea while Mr. Bellamy visited in the next room with Erik. He had just had another terrible bout of coughing and she knew the tea would do more to help him feel better than the medicine she had already given him. The prognosis the doctors had given Erik was extremely poor. The disease had spread throughout his body, affecting almost all his major organs, and rendering it inoperable. Chemotherapy and radiation would likely be of little help, but they might have offered some small hope. Erik, however, had completely refused either of those therapies, insisting that he would only agree to treatment that would allow him to spend the remainder of his days at home, with Rosalie.

Rosalie had thrown her hands up in the air, upon hearing his decision. "Why are you just giving up?" She'd asked him angrily, "The doctors said the therapies might help you."

"They also said they wouldn't cure me," Erik reminded her gently.

"But they could give us more time." Rosalie insisted.

"But at what cost, my love?" Erik tried to make her see reason. "To hear the doctors tell it, that time would be spent with me feeling constantly nauseated and fatigued. What kind of life would that be for us?"

"What kind of life do you think_ I_ will be living knowing you're just letting yourself die?" she placed a hand over her face to hide the tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I am not just letting myself die, Rosalie," his eyes were intense, begging her to understand. "I'm trying to make it so that we can live as we have been-for at least a little longer. I don't want my last days to be spent fighting a losing battle. "

"But how do you know you would lose, Erik?" Rosalie looked at him with pleading eyes, "There's a small chance. . ."

"It won't work, Rosalie." Erik took her by the shoulders and told her firmly, looking her directly in the eyes. "It's time."

Rosalie just closed her eyes against the tears and shook her head. "It's not enough time, Erik."

"It would never have been enough time, Rose," he whispered, pulling her to him and taking her into his arms.

"We were supposed to have forever, Erik." She sobbed into his chest.

"No one knows how long forever will last, Rosalie." he hugged her to him tightly. "Even if I had another hundred years to love you, I would still have wanted more." He held her so tightly, while her tears flowed. "Rosalie," He said eventually, pulling away a little so that he could look in her eyes. "We said our forever would be full of music and love and laughter. That's what I want, my love. I don't want to be here in this hospital room, stuck in a bed and hooked to these barbaric machines when I could be at home loving you."

It had been two weeks since Erik had come home from the hospital. She had been with him constantly, leaving his side only to pack some personal items, or to get them food to eat. It killed her that Erik was not treating his disease more aggressively, but she knew arguing with him would be a waste of breath, and she did not to want to lose one second of their time together.

So she went along with his wishes. They spent their days enjoying each others' company, for to Rosalie, just being around Erik was joy. Erik told her more stories of his travels in Europe, recounting exciting sights he'd seen while hiding in the shadows. Rosalie took some time to teach Erik about how music had evolved through the years, using her iPhone to play him some of her favorite modern songs, laughing at his aghast expression when she introduced him to rap. Her favorite times were still when she and Erik would sit down at his piano to make music together. Although his voice was weaker now, and he was prone to violent coughing fits, his music could still melt her heart. And when they'd sing together, they could still enter a magical world where nothing existed except for the two of them-no doctors, no medicine, no cancer.

Nighttime was the hardest. They spent their nights curled together in the swan bed that Rosalie had slept in her first night in Erik's home. They found that it was easier for Erik to rest if Rosalie was next to him, the warmth of her body soothing for his aching back, and Rosalie certainly did not want to spend any part of the night away from him. Sometimes, though, she would lie awake after Erik was sleeping, remembering their desire for one another, dreaming of what could be between them now if the disease hadn't taken hold. Erik still set her heart racing every time he kissed her, but he was weak-so weak. The doctors had warned them that he had to stay relatively calm. Any type of physical exertion could cause another violent attack like he'd had on stage, and another one of those could kill him outright. She grieved for the passion that they would never be able to fulfill, wanting so badly to feel that connection with him. But then she felt wrong for wanting more than what they had. She was blessed to still be holding the man she loved in her arms. She knew she should cherish these moments because there were too few of them ahead.

A month. The doctors had estimated a month for the disease to run its course. It had already been two weeks. Rosalie tried so hard for Erik to pretend that things were ok, to go about their lives surrounding him with the joy and music and laughter he desired, but Erik's illness was tearing her up inside. And the thought that it was only going to get worse was always lurking in her mind. There were times when the pit in her stomach and the pounding in her head was almost too much to bear.

The kettle's whistle snapped Rosalie out of her thoughts. She carried the tray of tea and shortbreads out to the sitting room where Erik and Mr. Bellamy sat together on the sofa, facing the fire, discussing the future of the opera house. When Erik saw Rosalie, his eyes lit up. She brought the tray over to where the men were sitting, handing Erik his cup. "Rose," he said, his voice a little hoarse, "Rahim has a surprise for us!"

Rosalie looked over at Mr. Bellamy as she handed him his tea.

"Yes," he said, his eyes shining with excitement. "I've planned a little outing for the two of you. You've both been cooped up in here for far too long. You need a little air."

Rosalie looked at Erik. She knew he wasn't usually one to go out-and normally that didn't bother her-but truth be told, she had been feeling lately that if she didn't get out for just a little while, away from the pain, and sadness, and stress, she might go mad. "Are you feeling up to it, Erik?" she asked.

"Absolutely!" he smiled at her. "I'd love to take you out on the town."

They quickly finished their tea, and Erik grabbed his wide brimmed hat that helped to keep his mask out of view. The three of them took Erik's boat over to the opera house entrance by the offices. It was late, and no one was around. Rahim walked with them out to the plaza, and hailed a taxi, giving the driver instructions of where to take them. Then he handed Erik an envelope, telling him not to open it until they'd reached their destination.

The ride was short, only about 10 minutes. When the taxi stopped, they were on a bridge, near Notre Dame Cathedral. It was dark and there was no one else around. Erik looked quizzically at their surroundings, sure that Rahim had finally gone mad, having a taxi give them a ride to a mugging.

The driver came around and opened their door to let them out, informing them that he would be back for them shortly. Erik put his arm around Rosalie to shield her from the cold, asking "What was that crazy manager thinking?"

"Why don't you look in your envelope?" Rosalie reminded him.

Erik opened the envelope and took out a padlock and a marker. He held them up for Rosalie to see. "OK, Rose, we really need to get him help."

"Wait Erik, look," Rosalie was pointing to a note that had flitted out of the envelope and fallen to the ground. She knelt down and picked up the note, reading it out loud.

_Erik and Miss Daniels,_

_I have arranged for you to visit Pont de l'Archevêché, which __is also known as the Love Lock Bridge. It is the custom for true lovers to write their names on a padlock and affix it to the fence. Then they throw the key into the River Seine, as a symbol of their undying love for each other, the bond of which can never be broken. Since I have never known two lovers with a more unbreakable bond, I thought this would be the perfect way to honor your love and devotion to one another._

_Sincerely,_

_Rahim. _

Rosalie looked at the fencing around the bridge, and, indeed, she now saw hundreds and hundreds of small locks attached to it, each lock a symbol of a love to span the ages. She looked up at Erik with tears in her eyes. He held out a hand to help her up, a smile on his face. "Well, my love, perhaps Rahim is not crazy after all! I can think of no one to whom I would rather pledge my eternal love than you."

Rosalie smiled as the tears continued to fill her eyes. "Neither can I."

Erik took the top off the marker, and in his elegant hand, signed his name on the top of one side of the padlock. Rosalie took the pen next and signed her name beneath his. They found an open link on the fence, and together attached the lock, making a public, physical statement of their commitment to one another.

Before throwing the key into the River, Erik took Rosalie's hands in his, and said, "Belle Rose, you have my abiding love and devotion. You brought enduring sunshine into a world that had been shrouded in darkness. You have looked upon me as I am, and you said yes. You have loved me-all of me-with all that you are, holding back nothing. I want you to know, you have given me my every dream, and I could never feel closer to you than I do right now. I love you, Belle Rose. Now and into eternity."

"Erik," Rosalie whispered, tears once again flowing freely from her eyes. "You have my constant love and devotion. All my life I searched blindly for the other half of me. All my life, you were calling me to you, drawing me near, pulling me ever forward until I finally found you and became whole. The first time you held me in your arms, I was home. And I never want to leave. I love you with all of my heart and all of my soul, and I will love you forever, just as fervently, just as deeply as I do now. My love for you will never die-it will follow you into eternity."

They took the key, squeezing it tightly for a moment in their joined hands. Together, they tossed it into the Seine, sealing their promise with a deep, tender kiss, and a strong, amorous embrace. When they saw their taxi return, Erik took Rosalie by the hand, saying, "Come my love, let's go home."

**For those wondering, The Love Lock bridge is actually a real thing. There are actually 2 in Paris, and others around the world. I had never heard of it, until a former student of mine traveled there and sent me pictures. I immediately thought of Erik and Rose. **

**Anyway, please review-even if it is just to throw pitchforks at me. Chapter 21 coming right up.**


	21. Chapter 21 A Broken Soul

**OK, here it is. I cried when I wrote this chapter. Poor Rosalie. :(**

21. A Broken Soul

Rahim Bellamy's brilliant surprise for Erik and Rosalie was a night for which the couple would always be grateful. Their time at the bridge served to make them feel closer than ever before. Knowing that there was a physical monument that would last beyond their current torment added a sense of permanence to their love. The vows they spoke to one another that night were more binding in their hearts than any recited before an altar or at town hall. Their commitment was true, and each knew that death had no power to destroy that.

And yet, Erik's condition continued to deteriorate. Every day, he would cough more and more, and though he was always quick to cover his mouth with a handkerchief, Rosalie could see the stains of red that would often appear on the white cloth. Though Erik was careful to always wear a smile in her presence, she noticed the grimaces of pain that would emerge on his face when he thought he was alone. Even just shifting positions seemed to distress him, and Rosalie did her best to let him lean on her as much as he could. Standing was difficult for him, so they spent most of their time on the sofa, reading or talking. Even snuggling too close, could sometimes prove challenging, since certain positions put too much pressure on Erik's lungs and would cause him to struggle for air.

Yet they found ways to make it work. The physical connection between them was vital. Rosalie absolutely needed to _feel_ that he was still there. So their kisses and caresses, though always gentle, came frequently, and Rosalie spent long moments memorizing the feeling of his hands, the soft pressure of his lips, locking the sensations away in her heart for the days when they would be only memories.

In the evenings, they would still spend some time at the piano, although less now, since Erik became very easily fatigued. He would sit on the bench and play and she would stand behind him, subtly supporting his back, her hands resting on his shoulders. She loved the way they moved within her gentle grasp as his fingers traversed the piano keys. Though their songs were much simpler now, when they sang together, Rosalie was completely at peace for a few short moments. She always felt that through music they could touch each other's cores, becoming one through song, the way they could not with their bodies because of the illness. Music was, as it had always been, their great connector, tying them to one another in an even more elemental way than their physical shows of affection.

Yet the evening came when even those brief moments of peace were taken away from her. It had been a particularly hard day. Erik's coughing had not seemed to respond well to either the medicine or the tea. Though his expression remained cautiously pleasant, Rosalie could tell by the way he carried himself that his chest was aching greatly. And yet, he had drawn her to the piano like they did every night, knowing that their nightly ritual brought them both great comfort and joy. Erik's fingers began their journey on the piano keys, but when it was time to sing, his voice did not issue forth-only a pitiful, dry, rasping sound that resembled one of his coughs more than his singing. He tried once more, and this time he did cough, causing him to quickly press his handkerchief to his mouth. Rosalie knelt down beside him and rubbed his back, trying to soothe the coughing, taking one of his hands in her's. "Now I know, how Carlotta felt that night I hit her with the toad spray." Erik commented, breathlessly, when the coughing fit was finally over, trying to add some levity to the situation, "Maybe that wasn't very nice of me after all."

Rosalie indulged him with rolled eyes and a crooked grin at his joke, saying, "Come on, Maestro, let's get you to bed." Rosalie helped him rise from the piano bench, and kept her arm around his waist as they walked to the bedroom. She helped him change into his black satin pajamas and eased him down onto the bed, taking her place next to him. After exchanging I love yous and kissing each other sweetly good night, Erik rolled onto his side, and Rosalie wrapped her arms around him, snuggling him close, so that her body heat could help calm his aching lungs. She held him close through a few more quiet coughs, and hummed to him softly as he drifted off finally to a peaceful sleep.

But sleep would not come for Rosalie. She tried to focus on Erik-on the soothing warmth coming from his body, on the scent of his hair, just the feeling of nearness that was so precious to her. But tonight, it didn't help. Inside she was dying. Watching her love, her _Erik, _so weak and so frail was killing her as sure as the cancer was killing him. Not being able to _do_ anything about it-not even _trying_ any of the medical procedures-was tearing her apart inside. Little by little, everything she loved, everything she _lived_ for was slipping away from her, and no matter how tightly she held on, she was going to have to let go. She was losing him. She was _losing_ her _Erik_. And there wasn't anything she could do about it.

Suddenly, she felt herself trembling, and she knew that she had to get out of bed before she woke him. He would want to know what was wrong, and she just didn't think she could find the strength to pull it all together for him at that moment. Though her heart protested at the thought of disentangling from their embrace, Rosalie unwrapped her arms from his body and slid out of the bed. Pulling on her robe, she walked out of the bedroom and closed the door.

Rosalie paced the floor of the room by the lake, the rushing water echoing the storm blowing through her mind. She felt like throwing things, she felt like breaking things-anything to quell this rage inside her. How could this be happening to him? Erik was being stripped of everything that made him him. His tall stature was now diminished, since he could no longer stand without leaning. He was losing his taste for his favorite foods, only the heat from the tea bringing him any measure of satisfaction. He couldn't visit his opera anymore, the stairs becoming unnavigable, and the boat too uncomfortable and too hard for him to row. And now he couldn't sing. His magical, perfect voice was now gone-a casualty of the disease. Erik _was_ music-and now with the music gone, how much longer before. . .?

Rosalie closed her eyes and pulled at her hair, as if trying to pull her next thoughts out of her mind before she could think them. But to no avail.

How long before it would _all_ be over? How long before he was gone and she was once again, all alone, never again to feel whole? She opened her eyes and looked at the room around her. This was the room where she first felt his arms around her, protecting her from falling. Without Erik, she knew there would no longer be anyone there to stop her descent into the darkness.

Rosalie walked over to his beloved piano. She caressed its surface lovingly, remembering all the times his fingers had danced across the keys and created a world of such glorious music. She sat down on the bench where he so often sat, and she rested her fingers on the ivory he so often commanded. She pressed down on a few of the keys aimlessly, loving the sounds, knowing she desperately needed the release that music would bring. Consciously trying not to wake Erik, Rosalie softly began to play-randomly at first, but soon her fingers led her into a song and before long, she began to sing.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Erik awoke with a cough, feeling cold air surrounding him. He turned to see that Rosalie was not there. Before long, he heard the soft tinkles of the piano keys and knew she must not have been able to sleep. The coughing fit had bothered her far more than she had let on. She had smiled while helping him to bed, but he could read the desperation in her eyes. He was dying and she knew it. She tried to be calm and remain positive, but he knew that the last few days had been hard on her. He rose to check on her, pulling on a robe against the cold, as he slowly yet quietly opened the bedroom door. And that was when he heard her voice begin to sing.

**I will wander 'til the end of time, torn away from you. **

**I turn away to face the pain.  
I close my eyes and drift away.  
Away from the fear that I will never find  
A way to heal my soul.  
And I will wander 'til the end of time  
Torn away from you.**

**My heart is broken  
Sweet sleep, my dark angel  
Deliver us from sorrow's hold  
**Daggers pierced Erik's heart to hear Rosalie sing of such pain. Were these the secret thoughts she did not share with him? They sounded so familiar, echos of his former pain that Rosalie herself had healed. Had he now inflicted his pain upon her?  
**I can't go on living this way  
But I can't go back the way I came  
Chained to this fear that I will never find  
A way to heal my soul  
And I will wander 'til the end of time  
Half alive without you**

Oh his Rose was too much like him! And that knowledge terrified him. He did not want her to go through this. This was the fate he had been trying to avoid for her, by begging Death to give him just a little more time. Time to be with her. Time to say goodbye. He had hoped that if she had time to get used to the idea of him dying, if they could have some blissful time alone together beforehand, it would be easier-that she wouldn't just fall apart, like he had years ago. But her next words proved him wrong. **  
Open your eyes to the light  
I denied it all so long, but I don't want to  
Say goodbye, goodbye.  
**The last declaration was strong, yet pitiful, and her hands were now still on the piano, as she breathed out her final, desperate plea.

**My heart is broken  
Release me, I can't hold on  
Deliver us  
My heart is broken  
Sweet sleep, my dark angel  
Deliver us from sorrow's hold **

Rosalie's head hung before her as sobs shook her body violently. Erik finally understood that Death would have been far more merciful if he had just taken him the night of the gala, violently and suddenly. This time he'd begged for, this time with Rosalie to prepare her had destroyed her. Watching him waste away had hollowed out her spirit, leaving her nothing but an empty shell. He had broken her heart, broken her soul. In his foolish desire to protect her from pain, he had done to her exactly what Christine had done to him. In his mind, he heard the whispery echoes of Death's warning. "_I__t is not my hold over her that will destroy her-it is yours." _

He walked swiftly over to Rosalie, and kneeling down, scooped her into his arms. He pulled her down onto his lap, and he just held her tightly, rocking gently back and forth, as she continued to sob, stroking her hair, whispering to her that he loved her, knowing that each tear was falling because he caused it. It was breaking him inside, but there was no way he would let her see it. She had been strong for him from the moment she met him-from the moment she took that trip into the unknown of his lair, after hearing a strange voice calling out to her in the dark theater; from the moment she kissed his twisted, tortured face when he'd unmasked himself the first time. She had spent this entire month, trying so hard to bolster him up, while he had unwittingly been tearing her down. Tonight that all had to change.

When she was calm, and the sobbing had stopped, he kissed her lips, deeply and fully and drew her over to the sofa. "I'll be right back," he said, as he went into the kitchen to make her some tea. He reached into the cupboard and found the small vial of sleeping potion he had hidden away there long ago. It was completely harmless, but it would force Rosalie to sleep-and they both needed that desperately right now.

Erik came back to her with two cups of tea in his hand, and Rosalie immediately began to protest. "Erik, why didn't you tell me you needed some tea? I could have brewed it."

"Shhh" he said handing her her cup and sitting down beside her. "You have been doing nothing but taking care of me. Allow me this small pleasure of taking care of you."

Rosalie chuckled slightly and said "Thank you," taking the first sip of her tea. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Rose, don't say you're sorry." Erik shook his head, in understanding. "You needed that time, that music."

"But you needed your rest more."

"Shhh. We will rest when we're finished with our tea. We're going to go back to our bed, and I will hold you tonight."

"But what about your back? When I hold you it soothes your back."

"Having my arms around you will soothe my heart." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Rosalie, I'm sorry for how I've been making you feel lately."

Rosalie looked at him, sheepishly, "It's not you, Erik. You must know that. It's the disease."

Erik chose his next words carefully. "I know my decision not to pursue treatment has been weighing on you." Erik could feel her stiffen, and knew that his words rang true. "Rosalie, talk to me," he entreated, looking directly in her eyes.

"I just wish," Rosalie began, her voice weak and trembling, but gaining in power as she went on. "That you had fought for us. You promised me your undying love, and you gave me music, and laughter and joy, but no fight. A fight might have kept you here. I will _never_ be able to get that thought out of my mind. 'What if he had tried the chemo? What if he had fought for us? I might still have him with me.' But now I'm going to be lost, alone with nothing to fill me up inside except for memories. And memories fade. . ." This last phrase was a pain filled whisper, as Rosalie contemplated a life without him.

Erik gazed at his beautiful, broken love, and he fervently hoped that the memories _would_ fade; he knew from his own torturous experience, that it would be so much harder for her if they didn't. "Rose," he finally said, kneeling down in front of her, taking her hand in his, and placing it over his heart. His ice blue eyes flashed with a fire she had not seen in a long time, as he entreated "I'm so sorry. Starting this moment, I promise, I _will_ fight for you. I will do whatever I can to make this better for you."

Rosalie's eyes lit up, even as her lids drooped. The sheer exhaustion from releasing all that pent up anguish was washing over her. "You're going to start the chemo?"

"If that's what it takes, then yes. I will fight, Rose. I should have all along."

Tears sprang to Rosalie's tired eyes and she leaned forward and threw her arms around him. "Thank you! Oh, thank you! I love you so much, Erik."

"And I love you, my Rose." He hugged her back, with fierce determination about what he had to now do. He felt her arms slacken a bit, and knew it was time for her to sleep. "Come on, Rose, let's go back to bed."

**OK, so now you know Erik has a plan. What could possibly go wrong? **

**The song I used in this chapter was My Heart is Broken by Evanescence. I heard an acoustic version of it on the radio awhile back, and it seemed perfect for poor Rose, who is finding herself in the emotional position that Erik was in all those years ago. I am sorry for the sadness, but I felt it was necessary. Tomorrow, we move on to Erik's plan.**

**Please review. Thanks!**


	22. Chapter 22 Destiny

**Well, you made it through the hardest part. Thanks for sticking with me. I think you'll like this chapter. **

22. Destiny

Erik tucked Rosalie in next to him and held her, placing whisper soft kisses on her hair and face until she was fast asleep. When he was certain that she wouldn't awaken, he gently got out of bed. Quickly he dressed, and then quietly closed the door.

Erik gingerly stepped into his boat, and summoning all his strength, rowed his way across the lake. His back ached and his chest burned, but he didn't care. He promised Rosalie he was going to fight and that was what he was going to do. She thought the fight meant chemotherapy to try to battle his cancer. He knew it was a fight of a different nature.

When Erik reached the opposite shore, he had to pause to catch his breath. His entire body wanted to shut down, but with an iron will, he continued on to the old dormitory section of the Opera. At the end of the long hall he found the old chapel where he had first observed Christine all those years ago, talking to her departed father. He pushed open the door and surveyed the room before him. It looked so much like it had that night, long ago, when he thought he was witnessing an angel lamenting her fall from Heaven. The room was small, with 3 rows of pews on either side of a center aisle. Along the curved front wall sat the stone altar, on top of which was a crucifix bearing the form of Christ. To either side of the altar were magnificent statues of kneeling angels, their gilded wings spread out behind them, their hands folded in prayer. The stone walls of the chapel were pierced at regular intervals by stained glass windows which depicted a multitude of cherubim and seraphim, holding harps and lutes and singing in a chorus to the Creator. The room had been a fitting home for the Angel of Music, and it would now be the proper meeting place for a disgraced angel's talk with God.

Erik approached the front of the chapel and knelt down before the altar. The floor was hard and his back screamed from being in that position, but he paid it no mind. His purpose here was far more important than his temporary discomfort. He tentatively looked at the crucifix before him, a visual symbol of both human and divine suffering, then bowed his head, not knowing how to begin. He had once told Rosalie that spiritual entities were much more real than anyone imagined. He desperately hoped that that was true, not just for the darkness, but for the light.

He had never prayed before, but he knew he must, in order to save the soul of an considered how to address his plea. "Father" was not an option, having been told time and again that Satan was his sire. "Lord" implied subservience, and Erik knew he had not exactly spent his time on Earth being submissive, so he felt that wouldn't be right either. In the end, he settled for "Sir," as he began his battle for Rosalie's spirit.

"Sir," Erik said out loud, in a strong, clear voice."I know that we have never spoken before. In truth, for over a century I thought you hated me, or that you just weren't there, and that your existence was but a fabricated myth and fairy tale for mothers to tell their children. What other explanation could there be for the misery that was my life? But twice now, you have gifted me with angels. For that I must acknowledge your existence and allow the possibility that perhaps you don't, in actuality, despise me.

"Sir," Erik continued, looking back up at the cross, "I do not deserve your angels. I terrified the first one, with my monstrous behavior and my hideous temper, and despite my best intentions, I seem to have broken the second one." Erik's voice caught a little at this, as he felt a wave of sorrow come over him when he remembered Rosalie's suffering. "She loves me, Sir" he whispered, as if in awe. "Because of the purity and light in her own soul, she has found a way to love me. She has only been with me a short time, but she has taught me more about life and love than most men ever know in a lifetime-certainly more than I had dared to hope for, considering my hideous appearance. My own mother would never kiss me, Sir" he said softly, glancing off into the distance, remembering the the first woman whose love he had wanted so desperately. "She would never look upon me without a mask. But my Rose. . .she kissed my face," tears came to his eyes now, as he recalled their first kiss, and a wistful smile lit up his features, "and held me to her heart, and she promised to be my wife. But then the illness struck and took away all of our dreams." he closed his eyes, as the memory of Rosalie's tears broke his heart anew.

"I know I should not have loved her, Sir. I was an evil, evil man in my early life. I murdered. I tortured. I have no excuse for those deeds, and I knew that I was living an unnatural existence. I should not have tainted her with my love. I should have turned her away, not accepted her affections. I admit that I deserve no less than hell.

"But Rosalie does not. She deserves every good thing in life. She deserves love and happiness with a man who is worthy of her, and one day, children to fill her home with joy and laughter. Yet, I fear that hell is where she is headed, because she is convinced she needs me. She says she cannot be complete without me. I am terrified for her.

"So I ask you, Sir, I _beg_ you." He looked to the cross again, to the very face of Christ, his tone pleading, his eyes desperate. "Please spare her this heartache. I know well how it feels when the one who makes you whole is ripped away from you. You are hollow inside, and nothing in the world seems able to fill the emptiness. I do not want that for her, Sir. She does not deserve it.

"I ask nothing for myself," he firmly declared. "I deserve my fate. I should have suffered it a long time ago, and did not only because of some supernatural whim. But please, Sir. Spare her. Take me now, if it be your will. Send me to hell, and let her awaken remembering nothing. Let her think that everything has been just a strange dream, and let her believe once more that The Phantom of the Opera was just a work of fiction, as so many others do. I know you are capable of miracles, Sir. That became clear to me when I met Rose.

"Please just give Rosalie what she needs to feel whole. Do not let her die inside like I did for so long. Please let her love again-lead her to the other half that _you_ intended for her, for I know you certainly never truly meant to give me your angel. We both know I am not good enough for her."

Tears flowed freely down Erik's face as he made his impassioned plea. He buried his face in his hands, hoping desperately that someone had been listening.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rosalie awoke feeling a little groggy, and knowing that something was wrong. She rolled over to find Erik's side of the bed empty. She remembered falling asleep in his arms after she had finally broken down under the stress of it all. He had held her and kissed her to sleep, and she loved him so much for it. But now, he was not in their bed, and she wondered where he had gone. She called out to him, but got no response, so she got up, pulling on her robe to check if he was ok.

The sitting room was dark, with only a couple of lanterns burning to provide a dim yellow glow. She called to him again, but still, no answer. As Rosalie walked through Erik's home, she realized that things felt different. There was an emptiness to the air, a flatness that never seemed to be there in Erik's presence. She walked by the lake to the little dock and saw, in a panic, that the boat was gone!

Rosalie ran back to the bedroom, where she kept her purse. She grabbed her phone and called Mr. Bellamy's number. "It's Erik," she said, when Rahim picked up. "He's left the lair, and I don't know where he is. He was so weak, Mr. Bellamy. We need to find him."

Rosalie ended the call at Mr. Bellamy's assurance that he would meet her at the opera house as soon as possible. She threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and took off for the stairs to Box 5.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Bravi, Bravi, Bravissimi!" Erik heard a shadowy voice say, "Isn't that the line you use on all your sopranos?"

Erik turned his head to see Death drifting down the center aisle to stand before him.

"Have you come to claim me, now?" Erik asked in a tired voice, hands limp at his side, in a show of submission. He hoped fervently that God had heard his prayers.

"Indeed," Death admitted. "And not a moment too soon, it appears. Come to beg for your soul, Angel?"

"No," Erik rasped, the fight having gone out of him somewhat, after his desperate soliloquy before God. "I came to beg for Rosalie's"

"Oh, isn't that touching?" Death shook his head condescendingly. "Ironic, isn't it, that you would come in your last moments to the very same place where you first saw Christine? Wanting to feel close to her, Angel?"

"No," Erik insisted, "This visit had nothing to do with Christine."

"I wonder if Rosalie will feel the same, when she finds you, dead, in the den of the Angel of Music." Death's spectral laughter teased at Erik's ears, filling his soul with dread. "Or perhaps she will not make that connection, and wish only to accompany you on your journey. You know I cannot deny the wish of a beautiful lady."

"NO!" Erik's voice rose in fury, as he struggled to get to his feet. "Leave her out of this! She is nothing to you."

"You're right about that, Angel." The ghostly laughter bubbled up again, as Death continued to taunt. "She is nothing. . . except your lover. But many true lovers die of a broken heart, desiring to follow their beloved to the grave. . .after all, she did promise that her love would follow you into eternity," the laughter was loud now, bouncing off the chapel walls.

"NO!" Erik roared now, tearing the air from his lungs in painful bursts, swaying a little on his feet. "Leave her! She must live!"

"Live? Is the angel who once _begged_ me for death now demanding _life_ for his darling little rose? If you wanted her to live, Angel, you should have left her when I first came back for you. After all, _your touch is poison_."

Erik reached out his hand in fierce rage and grabbed onto the skeletal forearm beneath the robe. He was done letting Death toy with him on its own terms. Erik had imparted death on so many others. He _would_ now snare it for himself. His grip was deadly strong as he pulled the arm toward him, grabbing hold of the scythe with the other hand, and pulling it down upon himself. Immediately, he felt a jolt of pain in his heart and he collapsed, barely breathing, to the floor.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rahim Bellamy and Rosalie searched frantically through the halls of the opera house. They had no idea where Erik could be. They had checked Box 5, the Stage, the kitchens, the offices, the terrace, all to no avail. Rosalie felt sick, knowing that there was no way to know if he was even in the opera house itself, or in one of its many labyrinthine tunnels, in which case, they might never find him. "Where else, Mr. Bellamy?" Rosalie asked, the panic building within her, "Where have we not looked? We have to _find_ him. He was so ill."

"The only place in the opera house itself, that we haven't checked is the dormitory hall," Mr. Bellamy mused to himself. "But it's been closed off for so long. . ."

"So then it's the perfect place for him to be!" Rosalie said, suddenly sure that was where he was. "Come on, Mr. Bellamy, let's find him."

They hurried through the old, deserted hall of dormitories that were used in the days when dancers lived at the opera house. Immediately, they heard muffled voices from the chapel at the end of the hall. They rushed towards the sound and just as they reached the entrance, they heard a loud thump, as if something had fallen to the floor.

The doors to the chapel swung open as Rosalie and Rahim rushed into the room. A scream escaped Rosalie's lips as she saw Erik splayed unnaturally on the floor. She ran to him, tearing his mask away, cradling him in her arms, calling his name again and again.

"Erik, Erik, don't leave me!" She entreated, her eyes full of tears, her voice imploring him to hear her. "Erik, Erik, _please_!"

"Rosalie," Erik called her name, his voice barely a whisper.

"Oh Erik," her voice was fitful now, panicked and beseeching. "Erik, Mr. Bellamy is getting help. They'll be here right away. Hang on, my love. Hang on."

"I. . .love. . .you." he tried to lift his hand to touch her face one final time, but found he had no strength.

Rosalie saw the light beginning to leave his eyes. "Erik," she called, her voice becoming shrill, "Hang on! Stay with me!"

"I. . .can't" a tear escaped the corner of his eye.

"Then take me with you." she begged him, not caring how irrational her request was, tears flowing freely from her eyes. "I don't want to live without you, Erik. Please . . .take me with you."

"You. . .must. . .live, my Belle Rose." Erik closed his eyes as his breathing became more and more labored.

Rosalie sobbed and hugged him closer to her, burying her head against his chest. It was in that moment that she heard Erik's heart stop beating.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The dark haired angel wept at the scene unfolding before her. The blond girl's cries were bitter and raw, and the sound of them pierced the very heart of heaven. But it was for the frail and broken man she held in her arms that the angel wept. She knew the beauty of his voice, the dark sadness of his soul, and the hidden horror of his face. She had once wondered what kind of life he had known, that had twisted his spirit into a monstrous deformity that matched his cursed visage. She had since divined all of his life's torments, and her heart bled knowing she had once been chief among them.

She approached him gracefully and gazed upon his form, peering deeply into his soul. What had once been as twisted and ugly as his face was now washed clean and white, pure and beautiful. What was once frightened was now brave. What had once been filled with selfish desires now wanted only for another. What had once been blackened with hatred now glowed brilliantly with a love that was almost blinding in nature. This soul had not only been touched by love, it had been transformed into what it should always have been. This was not a soul destined for hell. The devil had truly overplayed his hand, for this soul had already found its destiny.

The heavenly creature took a moment to marvel at the girl who cradled the broken man in her arms. Surely his transformation was her doing. Though the girl had discovered a wretched creature of darkness, hideous to behold, she had somehow been able to see past his surface to the limitless potential inside-something which the angel, in life, had never been strong enough to do. She truly envied this girl that ability, for if she herself had found that strength, this man's fate might not have been so dark. Yet now she had the power to right that wrong at last.

The angel reached out her slender hands and placed them on the man's cheeks, both the one which had been perfect from birth, and the other which had been mangled and twisted into a strange aberration of itself. She closed her watery blue eyes and willed a healing power into him. It permeated his raw throat and inflated his ravaged lungs. It set his battered heart to beating again and made his blood flow through his veins once more. The impulses in his brain were fired and thoughts of his love were the first ones to enter his re-born mind. The celestial being smiled as she surveyed her work and knew that it was good. Then the angel slipped away, knowing that now the man would forever be safe, wrapped in the strong, loving arms of the rose.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rosalie was sure her heart would never stop breaking, as she held her lifeless love in her arms. It was over now-truly over. Their song would never again take flight, and she did not even know how she would manage the strength to stand, much less live the rest of her life without him. _Oh Erik, why couldn't you have found a way to take me with you,_ she thought, as she burrowed her head deeper into his now still chest.

In her mind, she could feel gentle fingers stroking her hair, and warm breath tickling her cheek. She conjured up the rise and fall of his chest, and the quiet rhythm of his heart as if it had resumed beating. Her desperate spirit was so cruel to be playing these tricks on her.

"Belle Rose. . ." she heard a voice whisper and looked up. Her Erik, was looking down at her, a smile upon his perfect face.

A look of sheer joy erupted across her features. "Oh my God! Erik, you're here!" she shrieked, her breath coming to her in heavy pants.

"Where else would I be but with you, Rose?" he asked her with eyes full of love.

"Erik, your face!" her eyes were full of wonder and awe.

"_Now_, you're noticing?" he said, not understanding the shock in her expression. "Come on now, Rose. I think the time has long since passed for you to use this hideous mess as an excuse to be rid of me!"

"Erik, no." She shook her head and reached with trembling hands for her purse which had fallen beside her. She pulled out her a hand mirror and held it up to him, saying, "Your _face_."

Erik glanced in the mirror and his mouth-his perfectly, symmetrically formed mouth-fell open in awe. The deformity which had plagued him since birth was gone. The face looking back at him-_his_ face-was now perfectly proportioned, with a strong, chiseled jawline and high, sculpted cheekbones. Two piercing blue eyes peeked out from behind long, thick lashes in a look of astonishment. His brow was smooth, as were his cheeks, and the skin was healthy and supple. His nose-his full, complete nose- was elegant and straight.

Erik stared in disbelief for a moment longer. "It's . . .perfect?" he whispered in surprise.

"It always _has_ been." Rosalie murmured, drinking in the sight of her lover alive and well in her arms.

Erik dropped the mirror at that moment, gazing up in awe at the woman he loved. He caught the glow of joy in her eyes as she reached forward and claimed his full sensual lips with her own, tangling her fingers in his thick black hair. After their kiss he held her close to his heart, as he gazed toward the altar once again. The cross which had earlier seemed like the ultimate symbol of suffering and pain was now a sign of redemption. And as he felt his Rose tighten her arms around him, he whispered a humble prayer of thanks.

**See, I promised you we'd get to happy! :)**

**OK, so PLEASE review and tell me what you think! **

**What did you think of Erik's pleading for Rosalie's soul and his final conversation with Death?**

**Of the dark haired angel coming to save him? (Please tell me if you were able to predict that Christine would come and save him, because if you did, you're _GOOD_. I did not even know she was going to be there until the day I wrote it! HA!)**

**Of the gift of his healed face-and how Rosalie told him he had always been always perfect. **

**One more chapter-unless I can think of an epilogue. **

**I think you're gonna love it, though!**


	23. Chapter 23 Forever

**Well, Erik is healed, now he and Rosalie have a little unfinished business to attend to. Hope you all dressed for a wedding!**

23. Forever. . .

When the ambulance arrived, Rosalie insisted that Erik go to the hospital to be thoroughly examined. The doctors could find no sign of the cancer-no sign of illness at all. Erik was declared to be in perfect health. The disappearance of his symptoms, as well as his deformity, was declared a medical miracle-one for which the doctors could offer no explanation. But of course, neither Rosalie nor Erik cared for explanations. They never really knew what had happened, unseen, that night Erik fought the battle for Rosalie's soul and managed to win back his own as well. The only thing that mattered was that they still had each other, and their joy was overwhelming as they once again looked forward to forever.

It was not long before they took their vows in a quiet rooftop ceremony. On a night when the stars glittered in the sky, and the sweet aroma of roses was in the air, Rahim escorted Rosalie as she walked toward Erik where he stood near the mighty statue of the Angel of Music. Her gown was breathtaking-the boned white bodice outlined in blush roses along the demure neckline, the long filmy skirt scattered with the same blush roses in random spots. On her head, she wore a wreath of soft fresh blossoms, from the back of which her beautiful long veil flowed. In her arms, she carried a bouquet of long stemmed red roses, tied together with a ribbon of white, a gift from the man who would soon be her husband.

Erik, dressed in his formal tail coat, gazed at her from where he stood beside the priest. In his wildest dreams he had never dared to imagine that such an incredible vision of loveliness would ever agree to be his bride-his _wife_. And yet, she moved toward him, radiant with joy, her eyes alight with hope and love-so much love. Erik was sure that if he lived a thousand years he could never again feel such happiness, such peace as he felt right now. Then again, if those years were spent with Rosalie, maybe he could.

When she reached him, Rahim gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and she and Erik joined hands. They gazed at each other with glittering eyes as once again they spoke binding vows of love.

"I, Erik, take you, Rosalie, to be my beloved wife, to have and to hold, to honor and treasure, to be at your side in sorrow and joy, in good times and in bad. I will love and cherish you always. I promise, from the depths of my heart, that for all the days of my life, I shall surround you with music and laughter and love. And even death shall have no power to part us."

"I Rosalie, take you, Erik, to be my beloved husband, to have and to hold, to honor and treasure, to be at your side in sorrow and in joy, in good times and in bad. I will love and adore you forever. I promise you, from the depths of my being, that for all the days of my life, we shall be one body, one heart, one soul. Our union shall follow us into eternity, and even death will never do us part."

As the priest conferred the blessing, they placed the simple gold bands on each others' fingers, tying themselves to one another in the eyes of God the way they were already bound in their hearts. As they sealed their union with a kiss, they could have sworn they heard the celestial voice of an angel singing.

After the ceremony, Erik and Rosalie spent a while celebrating with Rahim and his wife, and Lucas who had brought a date with him to witness their nuptials. Rosalie commented to Erik that this was a girl Lucas had seen at least twice before, thinking there might be hope for him yet. Erik remarked the only hope for Lucas was for him to keep his hands off Rose, which earned him an eyeroll. Erik laughed with pure joy at his wife and pulled her in close for a warm hug.

Soon it was time for the couple to depart. They said their goodbyes and made their way back to Box 5, where they took a detour so that they might row their boat across the candlelit lake.

"You know you have made me the happiest man in the world, tonight, Belle Rose." he whispered in her ear as she leaned back against him in the boat.

"Mmmmmm," she arched closer against him, savoring the feeling of his warm breath on her neck, "For now," she murmured.

Erik raised an eyebrow and asked, "Whatever do you mean, dear wife?" He loved the sound of that word on his lips.

Rosalie let escape a throaty giggle "I plan on making you a _lot_ happier later."

"Ahhhhhh," Erik purred, understanding fully what his wife was talking about, "Impossible." He issued a playful challenge, "Nothing could make me happier than seeing you, my bride, walking toward me in the starlight."

"Oh, really?" she asked flirtatiously, "Well, what about. . ." She leaned her head back and whispered something naughty in his ear.

Erik took in a deep breath and considered before answering in a husky voice, "Well, now. . .maybe that."

Rosalie giggled again, reaching an arm back to pull his head toward hers for a kiss. As Erik began to deepen the kiss and Rosalie felt his hands begin to roam over her body, she pulled away.

"Erik," she sighed, breathlessly as he continued to kiss her throat.

"Mmmm. . ." he rumbled, his lips now on her collarbone.

"I don't want to go swimming in my wedding dress."

Erik could not resist a hearty laugh at the memory of the last time they got carried away in the boat. "Then stop _tempting_ me, woman."

"Oh, I'm planning on doing a _lot_ of tempting, dear husband." her eyes sparkling with anticipation of their wedding night. "You're just going to have to get used to it!"

Erik's arms tightened around her as he rowed the last distance to their home, "I will never 'get used' to this, Belle Rose. Our love will always be new and exciting and a treasure greater than I could have ever hoped for. I will always be humbled by how God has blessed me with you."

Rosalie blinked away tears of joy. "You are my blessing too, my love. And I will be thankful for the gift of your love forever."

Erik was the first out of the boat when they reached the shore, securing it to the dock before reaching out a hand to steady Rosalie. The moment they were both on land, Erik crushed her to him in a passionate embrace, searing her mouth with a fire that had been smoldering for more than a lifetime. Rosalie eagerly kissed him back, welcoming his lips with the promise of forever, knowing that this was just the beginning of the passion was now theirs to explore for a lifetime. But after a moment, she pulled back.

Erik opened his eyes, panting in confusion, "Rose?" he looked at her questioningly.

"A moment?" she asked in a sultry voice holding up one finger, and leading him to their bedroom. When they got there, she sat him down on their bed, and backed away slowly, smiling seductively the whole time.

"Rose . . ." Erik practically whimpered, not wanting her out of his arms for even a second longer.

"A _moment,_" she begged with a giggle, slipping inside their little washroom and closing the door.

"A moment," Erik muttered under his breath. "I've been waiting over a hundred years, Rose!" He called out to his wife. He thought he heard her laughing at him from behind the closed door. "She laughs!" he chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

Erik removed his shoes and reclined back against the headboard, removing his bow tie and tossing it on the floor. Since he had nothing to do but wait, he spent the time reflecting back on the strange story that was his life. Had any other man ever wallowed in such sorrow, only to one day be bathed in such joy? Had any other man clung desperately to the darkness, only to later be pulled forth by the light? Had any other man been so certain he was destined for hell only to be granted heaven on earth? He marveled at how everything had changed. He was no longer the wretched ghost he had been for so long. Thanks to Rose, he had now become the man he should always have been. Simply because Rose loved him.

Erik heard the soft sound of the washroom door opening. He turned to see, for the second time that night, a vision of loveliness advancing toward him. Only this time, it was quite a different vision. Rosalie had changed from her beautiful wedding gown into a silky red negligee, with spaghetti straps, lace along the plunging neckline, and a hemline that barely skimmed her knees. Her golden hair was loose and tumbling over her shoulders, and in her eyes there was a look of such wanton desire that Erik was simply transfixed.

"You've had your white rose, Erik," she whispered seductively, as she approached the bed. "Now I thought you might like to have your red." She crawled into the bed, and knelt over him, looking directly in his eyes as she asked, "Was it worth the wait of a hundred years?"

Erik could barely squeak out the word, "Yes," as he reached out slowly to put his hands on the bare skin of her back.

Rosalie arched at his touch and dropped her head forward, letting her hair cascade across his face and neck, her sweet scent intoxicating him. "Rosalie, are you trying to stop my heart again?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'd only hoped to make it beat faster."

"That you do, my love." He reached up toward her as he pulled her closer, "That you do," and then the time for words was over as he claimed her lips in a kiss.

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When morning came, Erik opened his eyes to find Rosalie still asleep in his arms, her head resting on his bare chest, her golden hair splayed out across it. He was at a loss to describe how he felt at that moment-when every one of his wildest dreams had come true, and he had no fear of them being torn away from him. The emotions he had discovered with Rosalie last night-the ecstasy they had experienced together-were beyond reason, beyond words, beyond even the rapture that their music could bring. These feelings could truly only be communicated through the act of love, and Erik felt truly blessed to know that he would now be able to experience them again and again with this lovely rose he was lucky enough to call his wife.

His _wife_. Oh what a wonderful word. To know that he would have this woman beside him every day for the rest of his life was truly exhilarating. What kind of future lay before them? Would Rosalie be a regular on the opera stage, with him writing the music which would make her voice soar to the heavens night after night? Would they continue to live here in their underground hideaway, or would they one day wish to have a home above ground, filled with light and warmth and the laughter of children? Erik gazed again at his wife lying beside him. Would this beautiful woman one day become a mother? Looking at Rose, Erik could almost imagine a little flaxen haired girl running toward him in pigtails, with a bunch of handpicked flowers in her hand; or a son, with hair as dark as night, chasing after a puppy that had long floppy ears. Nadir, he thought with a smile. He would name a son Nadir, to repay the great honor his dear old friend had once done him.

He stroked Rosalie's hair, and kissed the top of her head, as he felt her eyelids flutter open. She turned to look up at him with pure adoration in her eyes. "Good morning, my husband," she murmured, a smile wide on her lips.

"I _love_ the sound of that word!" Erik responded, leaning down to brush her kissable lips.

"Me too." she purred, as she snuggled closer to him.

"I am so in love with you, Belle Rose." he sighed as he felt her begin to kiss his collarbone.

"I'm in love with you too, Erik." she concurred as she continued to trail soft kisses down his chest, "Madly, completely, eternally in love with you." she hovered at the edge of the covers now and she glanced up at him, with one eyebrow raised, "So is this better than watching me walk down the aisle in my wedding dress?"

Erik chuckled, "Maybe a little bit."

"Oh, well then I'll stop, if you're not sure." she said, jokingly, lying back down beside him.

In a flash, Erik flipped himself over so that he was now on top her. "Good, because now it's my turn to seduce my wife."

"Bring it on!" Rosalie challenged with a smile.

They both chuckled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. In that playful, intimate moment, Erik was overcome with an overwhelming sense of euphoria. He realized he could never have had this kind of connection with anybody else in the world, at any other time than right now. He looked his beautiful wife in the eyes and, his voice thick with emotion, murmured, "You alone could make my soul take flight."

She smiled and whispered, as she pulled him down to claim his lips, "We've just begun the music of the night."

**Awwww. What a happy couple. That is the end of their main story, but I will try to add a little epilogue sometime before the end of the week, so you can get a glimpse into their future-their long, happy future. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who read about Erik and Rosalie. I was quite surprised and thrilled by the reviews. I have never written anything this long before-and I hadn't written _anything_ creatively since high school, so this was really quite an amazing experience. ****Once again, BIG thanks to my wonderful beta reader, FantomPhan33. Thanks again to all my readers for their wonderful encouraging comments. Please follow me as an author, because I think I just got an idea for another story about Erik! I am tentatively calling it _The Secret Door_. I haven't started writing it yet, but if you follow me, it will notify you when I post it.**

**Thanks!**


	24. Chapter 24 Happily Ever After

**OK, my dear readers. . . here it is. The epilogue. I would like to thank my dear beta-FantomPhan33-for helping me turn it over so quickly! Again, thank you all for your interest in Erik and Rose. Their journey was a pure joy for me to write-except for the sad parts-and it was challenging for me to write their happily ever after, because it was hard for me to say goodbye to these characters that have taken over my mind for the last few months!**

*******OH, and a piece of great news! My wonderful reader, EMCLucky13 has made some LEGO characters for The Phantom and the Rose on deviantart . com! I truly feel like I have hit the _BIG TIME!_ _Please_ go check them out, and don't forget to leave her comments! She's amazing!******

**But now, here it is: their happily ever after. . .**

24. Happily Ever After

Erik gazed down the long path ahead of him. It would be a hard journey-perhaps the most difficult he had yet faced-but he knew that he would get through it, for he did not walk alone. He had a beautiful woman on his arm. He gazed at the golden curls gathered on top of her head-her bright eyes glimmering with joy-with anticipation. Though he dreaded this road before him, it was one for which she longed, and so, with a deep breath and a steeled resolve, he patted her hand where it rested on his arm, and he took a step.

_Twenty five years. _It had been twenty five years since he had begun his life with Rosalie, and he had never regretted a single step of _that_ journey. Two and a half _decades_ had passed since his Rose had crept into his life, and he'd been so happy, so content, he'd hardly noticed time's passage.

He recalled those first blissful weeks of their marriage, when it was all they could do to drag themselves out of the swan bed to endure the necessity of a meal. Occasionally, the mood for music would hit them, and they would find themselves at the piano, once again joining their voices in song. But of course, their music usually had the effect of sending them straight back to the bedroom-or the sofa, or the carpet, or sometimes even the piano bench had been enough-so hungry were they for each other in those days.

It had been quite some time before Erik and Rosalie emerged from their underground paradise, for truly, they felt they had found all they would ever need wrapped up in each others' arms. But, while he was happy for their joy, Rahim Bellamy had reasons to require their presence above, so after allowing them, in _his_ opinion, an inordinate amount of time to enjoy wedded bliss, Rahim sent Erik a note.

He had not been fool enough to deliver it in person, of course. He remembered the night of the Halloween Ball, and how he had scarcely escaped with his life, after interrupting their romantic rendezvous. No, Rahim had sent the note as a message to Rosalie's iPhone, and Erik was once again amazed at all the things that strange little device could do!

When they'd made their way to the office, Rahim had hugged them both warmly, informing them that he had been busy up above while they had been. . .otherwise occupied. . .below. At Erik's raised eyebrow, Rahim told them that for the next season, they were going to begin hosting opera nights-not full fledged productions, but concert events, featuring music from some of the world's best loved operas. He was hoping that Erik would serve as music director-planning the repertoire and overseeing the orchestra while Rosalie could be the prima donna. Erik was thrilled that once again, his opera house would be producing beautiful music-the most beautiful, of course, since it would be sung by his wife. But Rosalie had her conditions.

"Erik, I want to sing with you." She'd said, as he and Rahim had begun to launch into administrative details.

"But, of course, Rose," he assured her. "I will be at every performance. I will watch you from Box 5, and you will once again be magnificent!"

"No, Erik." Rosalie protested, "That's not what I mean. If I am to be Prima Donna, I will need a Primo Uomo, a lead tenor."

"Well, yes," Mr. Bellamy agreed. "We are working on that. Perhaps our new Musical Director," he added, patting Erik's shoulder, "Will be able to come up with some ideas."

"I want it to be _you _Erik_._" Rosalie insisted. "I want you to be up there with me on the stage."

Erik scoffed at her idea. "Oh, come on, Rose," he began, "You heard Rahim. I am to be Musical Director, not a performer."

Rosalie raised her eyebrow at him, "Are you content, then, to be an _office boy _when you know that with a voice such as yours you could _easily_ grace the opera stage?"

Erik just stared back at Rosalie, speechless, while Rahim covered his mouth in a valiant effort to stifle a laugh. When he loosed a sound much like a cross between a snorting pig and a distressed donkey, he excused himself to get some water, leaving the newlyweds alone to _discuss_ Rosalie's proposition.

"Rose," Erik began with a dry throat "I do not sing in public."

"_Really_?" Rosalie returned, "Erik, you know there is no other tenor voice on earth that could match the quality of yours."

"Rose," he entreated desperately. "My _face_. . ."

"Is perfect." Rosalie finished his sentence for him. She leaned forward to gently stroke the cheek that had once been deformed, "Erik, I know that you are not used to thinking of yourself as handsome, but truly, you _are_. You no longer have any excuse for hiding in the shadows. It is your time to shine, my husband, and to show the world the amazing man that you are." A wry smile came over her face as she added, "If anything, _I _should be the one trying to hide _you_. Once the rest of the world lays eyes on you, there will be all sorts of women throwing themselves at your feet!"

Erik rolled his eyes at his wife, and took her hand from his cheek so that he could bring it to his lips. "All to no avail, my love. What need could I ever possibly have for other women, when I already have the world's most perfect rose in my arms."

And so, Erik served the Palais Garnier as both music director and principal tenor for the new concert series, while his beloved Rose shone as prima donna. The concerts were a great success, and soon there was growing demand throughout Europe, to see the pair of "living angels" perform in a full fledged opera. Indeed, plans were made to produce a complete opera-an original composition by the new Director of Music, especially written to fit the voice of the glorious new soprano.

However, plans for this grand production had to be put on hold when, on the evening of their first wedding anniversary, Rosalie revealed to Erik that she was working on a little production of her own. They had been seated at their little dinner table, a vase of fresh red roses in the center, when Rosalie, with shining eyes, said, "Erik, I'm pregnant."

His eyes opened wide, and his mouth fell open. Once again, his wife had rendered him mute. "A baby?" he asked, when his faculty for speech returned, eyes wide with disbelief. She merely smiled sweetly at him and nodded.

Slowly, Erik crossed over to her side of the table, kneeling down before her and putting his hand on her belly. He looked at her in wonder, first at the place where his hand was resting, then up into her eyes. "We're going to have a baby?"

Her smile only widened, as a few tears glistened on her lashes. Erik stood, pulling Rosalie with him and lifting her in the air, twirling her around, as they both laughed in euphoria. He was still marveling at the fact that he had a wife, and now this beautiful woman he loved would be blessing him with a baby.

That night, as they lay together in bed, curled in the quiet glow of their love, Erik once again placed his hands on Rosalie's still flat belly, and whispered, "I can't believe I'm going to have a son!"

"Could be a daughter, you know," Rosalie yawned sleepily, as she tucked herself more closely against him.

"No, this baby is a boy," Erik insisted, kissing the back of his wife's head, as she drifted off to sleep. "I just know it."

The joy and pride he felt at the birth of his daughter, Liliana Grace, who had hair of gold-just like her mother-but with his icy blue eyes, was like nothing he'd ever felt before. She was so perfect and so _tiny_-and she was all his to protect and care for. Though he hardly felt worthy of these two beautiful creatures that were now the center of his life, he spent that first night thanking God once again for the blessing of his wife-and for the new blessing of his angelic little daughter.

As soon as Rose was home from the hospital, and little Lily was settled into a daily routine, they had begun their search for a new place to live. While Erik and Rose would always return to the house by the lake as a private getaway for when they wished to be alone, Erik refused to hide his child away from the world. She, like her mother, was a creature of light, and it would not do for her to be brought up in darkness. His daughter would be raised with the bright, warming sun shining down on her always. So they moved into a house not _too_ far from the Opera, and established a new home for their family. The sun shone in through the windows, music and laughter pealed down the halls, and their dinner table was always graced with a vase of red roses and white lilies.

Living in the twenty first century offered opportunities that Erik was eager to explore. First of all, he decided that he needed an iPhone of his own, in order to keep tabs on productions, and make his wishes clear even when he was not there. Erik's texting habits made Rahim Bellamy long for the days of parchment and ink, and it certainly had been perplexing to Erik when he found that everyone else's phone batteries seemed to fail at some point during the day, thus rendering them unable to answer his urgent requests. Secondly, he discovered that having a home away from his beloved opera house required him to have a reliable means of transportation. So, Erik asked Rosalie to teach him how to drive. He mastered the mechanics of controlling a vehicle very rapidly, but Rosalie's calming presence beside him was a definite boon in helping him overcome road rage. Were it not for his wife, Parisian traffic would likely have had him returning to his murderous tendencies of old. Even with Rosalie near he still found that he fantasized all too often about wrapping that lasso around the all too obtuse necks of his fellow drivers.

When Liliana had been about a year old, Erik's new opera was finally produced, with he and Rosalie singing the lead roles, and "Papa Rahim" watching over Baby Lily. It was after the wrap party for a successful run, when Erik and Rose stole beneath the opera for a little quiet tine, that Rosalie announced to Erik the impending arrival of their second child. Erik was once again overjoyed, and while Liliana had Erik wrapped around her proverbial little finger, this time he was absolutely certain that they would have a boy. And yet, months later, vibrant purple blooms joined the dining table bouquet, as they welcomed Violette Cadence into their family-a beautiful girl with a tuft of ebony hair, and green eyes as luminous as her mother's. Once again, Erik spent the night on his knees, reciting prayers of thanks.

For truly, Erik's girls were his blessings. They took after their father in their brilliance, both wickedly smart, and able to learn new things with ease. They both possessed their mother's kind heart and sweet character, and they were, of course, naturally musical-for how could they not be? Moreover, they both absolutely idolized their father. As babies, when Rosalie's attempts to quiet their crying fits would leave her exhausted, Erik was always able to calm their tears with his gentle touch and a silly face. As soon as they were both old enough to move about on their own, they toddled after him wherever he went. As their hair grew longer, like their mother's, they loved for Erik to gently brush it, and coax it into pig tails, or braids tied off with bright pink and purple ribbons. "Daddy, _story_," they would demand once they had discovered books. Many an evening were spent, with Erik sitting in the big comfy chair in the living room and Lily and Violette curled up on the carpet, listening to him read about Goldilocks or Little Red Riding Hood, as he growled the voices of the Big Bad Wolf, or the Three Bears. Rosalie would bring the girls some cocoa and hand Erik a cup of tea, whispering in his ear, "I told you the women would be throwing themselves at your feet!" before taking her place on his lap. He would always finish story time with a tale of his own, about a lonely ghost who was brought back to life through the love of a beautiful rose. Rosalie would kiss him sweetly on the cheek, then, and tell the girls it was time to start getting ready for bed-all the while looking into her husband's eyes with a silent promise for their own bedtime activities.

On the occasion of their fifth wedding anniversary, they were once again alone for the night in the house beneath the opera when Rosalie announced that they were going to have another baby. Erik pulled Rosalie onto his lap, holding her tightly and telling her how much he loved her and their family and their wonderful life together. They shared a tender kiss, which Erik broke, by spouting off names like Daisy, Marigold, Zinnia, Daffodil. . .

"What on earth are you going on about, Erik?" Rosalie asked with a laugh, running her fingers through his thick hair.

"Well, Belle Rose," he began sweetly, "Don't you think it's about time we add some yellow to the dining room bouquet?"

Rosalie laughed even harder. "Would you actually name our child Daffodil _just_, so we could put some yellow in the bouquet?"

"Well. . .no," he laughed with her, and brought her lips closer for another kiss.

"What about Nadir?" Rosalie asked softly, looking into his shining eyes.

"That would be a funny name for a girl, my love." Erik retorted.

"I think this baby is a boy." She whispered, placing her hand over her belly.

Erik's eyes narrowed at her words. "What makes you think that, Rose?"

Rosalie gazed at her husband with love, "I can _feel_ him, Erik," she insisted, "Just like I have always been able to feel you."

Erik felt that familiar sensation of melting when he looked in his wife's adoring eyes, and pulled her closer for a more passionate kiss this time. "We shall see, Belle Rose," Erik whispered, between kisses, his hands trailing down the curve of her side. "We shall see. . ."

Erik prayed fervently that his dear old Persian friend could somehow know his favor had been repaid, when Nadir Rahim Destler entered the world. He was the absolute image of his father-hair dark as night, eyes icy blue, and a voice which he used incessantly to coerce those around him to meet his every demand. And while the colors in the table bouquet remained the same, Erik insisted, when his son was around a year old, that they needed a dog-and so a Saint Bernard puppy by the name of Bear, with big floppy ears and giant tumbling paws joined their family, and now the afternoons centered around Nadir chasing Bear and the girls chasing Nadir, while Rosalie and Erik sat in the porch swing, enjoying the chaos.

Sometimes, when he would get distracted by her nearness, he would turn to his wife and whisper, "I love you," and gently pull her closer and kiss her temple, as she rested her head on his shoulder. Of course, at that point, one of the children would usually yell, "Ewwwww. They're kissing again," which would cause Erik to bolt up and chase after them, tickling the transgressor mercilessly once caught. Rosalie would sit there, and watch her husband playing with their children, and a feeling of total well being would wash over her. There could be no greater contentment than watching her beloved family and knowing, without a doubt, that her life was complete.

Of course, the opera definitely played a big part of their lives throughout the past 25 years. Erik had served both in the office and on the stage-and his Rosalie had always sung like an angel-but it was memories of the time he'd spent with his family-his greatest treasures on earth-that consumed Erik's thoughts as he continued down that challenging path. He thought not only of when his children were very young, but of their first days at school, and the first conference with Nadir's teacher, when the precocious child had gotten caught passing notes in class. He remembered his chagrin when Lily had insisted on taking up ballet, hoping one day to perform on the Garnier stage-and his pride when Violette sang her first solo in the choir. And how could he forget Nadir's guest performance at the opera, accompanying the orchestra on first violin? He recalled the harder times as well-the first time Violette fell off her bicycle and cut her knee. Nadir's first broken heart. The day they sent Lily off to university, only to have her come home with _Gregory_ in tow. Oh why could she not have brought home a cat instead?

He had almost reached his destination, and he saw Rose waiting there, smiling to him, seated in the front row, her long hair pulled up into a twist for the occasion. Though his own black hair was now amply streaked with gray, Rose's hair was still soft and golden, even if there were a few more crinkles around her eyes these days. They were laugh lines for certain, Erik knew, because their lives together had been overflowing with music and laughter and so much love, that he still felt as if they were just beginning, even as he stood there this evening, on the precipice of giving one of his greatest treasures away.

They had reached the end of the long aisle, and he turned toward Liliana, lifting the filmy veil which had been covering her angelic face. He kissed the cheek which reminded him so much of her mother's, before gently placing her hand in that of her soon to be husband. Before releasing her, he gave Gregory stern look directly in his dark eyes, reminding him, "Take care of her, or else you deal with me." With a knowing nod of the boy's chocolate curls, Erik released her hand, and went to join his beautiful wife, who immediately placed her hand within his and pulled him close. As the priest began the greeting, Rosalie leaned toward Erik. "I love you, Erik," she whispered. "I am so proud to call you _my_ husband." As he leaned subtly into his wife's side, watching his eldest daughter begin her new life with her husband, he was struck suddenly at how his and Rosalie's happy ending had really simply been a series of new beginnings. They had made it through them all, and would make it through the ones yet to come, holding hands, facing the world together. . . the Phantom and the Rose.

**Thank you again for reading! I hope to see you all again, sometime, once I begin to post The Secret Door. (Of course, first I have to write it! HA!)**


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